


Missing In Troy

by AutumnQuest



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amputee Achilles, Crimes & Criminals, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, POV Achilles (Song of Achilles), Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, The Iliad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-04 10:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnQuest/pseuds/AutumnQuest
Summary: Achilles, a typical rich kid, moves to the picturesque town of Troy, along with his recently divorced father. Troy is lovely, clean, privileged and oh so fake - it doesn’t take Achilles long to realise that he’s in Pandora’s Box.Someone is missing. That someone is captured in a bright smiling photo with a crown of brunette curls and bronze skin on the missing poster at Trojan High - it’s the Boy. The nameless Boy that haunts his dreams with summer sun and crystal laughter.But, he saw him - he’s seen him several times, why hasn’t anyone else?





	1. Trojan High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Trojan High was a small public school. Although, it should have been classified as private, considering the wealth it accommodated. Despite that truth, the town of Troy maintained that it was progressive, forward-thinking – open. Which meant simply that everything was a “public” something or other, if only in name.

Troy was (without the walls, moat or iron fence) a gated community. The privileged sat out in the open, spewing – usually on their scissor clipped lawn – randomly and somewhat frequently, how they didn’t care for the rich and felt that socialism was the only way forward. While those same people, still lived in a secluded radius, consisting of well-off families with a “public” school that had no one on the poverty line.

Achilles had never been to a public school. Originally, he was excited, he was going to make - in his mind - some friends that wouldn’t judge him for wearing the same t-shirt twice. If he bought the cheaper version of cola because it tasted better, and _why spend more? _If he didn’t drive the ludicrous Maserati to school but took the school bus instead. He was super excited when his father told him, _“I’m sorry but you will be going to a public school, because the private school is too far away, and doesn’t board.”_

That was music to his ears.

It only took a few days for him to figure out that the town of Troy was a very polished fake. Words meant everything, and they were all good at twisting them. To the bigger towns and the city – Mycenae – Troy was a town of the future. Open-armed and accepting to all. But words are only spoken or written, they can only do as much as the user allows them to.

-

It was a Friday, and his last class of the day; it was slow but that could have been his impatience to get to the field for try-outs. It had been an extremely long summer without any sports and a lot of tedious physio. And although he enjoyed his runs alone, his swims alone, his training alone… he knew he needed some company at some point to be considered a decent human being.

At least, that was what his father told him.

“You can’t hide all that talent to yourself, Achilles. Show your teammates how you train, help them. They will help you. Show them your courage, and strength.”

It wasn’t arrogance that he didn’t see how they could help him. They couldn’t. He had a natural talent towards sports, every coach he had or had met, said the same thing. It would be a shame to not see him in some sporting career.

What everyone didn’t seem to understand though, was he didn’t care for it. Being naturally talented had its perks but it got boring quickly. It wasn’t a challenge. No one stood beside him who could compete, no one tried. He’d get excited every time he met a new opponent who would talk big about how they’ll “_wipe the floor with him”_. Loving it, living for it, feeding off the rush of adrenaline. Then he’d win. After that, instead of them fighting to prove themselves in a second round, they’d humbly bow out.

Even trying to hold back never seemed to work, because his own body would complain, _why aren’t you running faster?_

He simply didn’t care for sports the way everyone else wanted him too. It was a release, that was all.

The teacher was wrapping the class up as Deidamia threw a pink paper note his way. He caught it, getting a nose full of her sweet perfume, she smiled at him as she started to pack her bag. Carefully tucking her hair behind her ear and winking at him.

_Party tonight on the open patch by the lake, 9 pm start!_

On any other occasion, he wouldn’t have gone but Deidamia was sweet. Her smile was soft. He liked her. Achilles watched her preparing to leave, she was petite through a healthy lifestyle, always well dressed and her laugh was infectious to others. She snorted sometimes if you made her laugh too hard which was kind of cute. The note felt heavy in his hand as he considered going, he’d run it by this dad first, that was the safest option.

-

Try-outs were fun if only because it was an excuse to show-off and have no one moan about it. The whole point was to show-off and get a spot on the team. The Captain of the field team, Odysseus, watched with a lazy smile and distant eyes. It was as if he was only half-way interested in everyone because he was also thinking of someone or something else.

Achilles ran; he ran fast. His feet to others seemed to skim the ground in a flash, skate over the dirt track like ice. To him, it felt like a gentle tap, feather-light, to push him forward. The sweat dripped down his back, clinging to his “Trojan In Training” tank top he was ordered to wear upon entering the stadium. His golden hair heavy with his determination to run faster, prove he was still capable after nearly a year out of competitive sports. His fingers painfully tingled from the adrenaline; his hand shook as he took a drink. Splashing some over his hair, his curls yielding to the weight.

Odysseus was the only one who didn’t overly compliment him. All he got was a simple look, his eyes looking his bedraggled state over and a small nod as he wrote his name down – “You’re good Achilles. Join the team.” Achilles noted Odysseus eying his ankle, he resisted the urge to touch it.

Odysseus bellowed to the others that the spots were filled, but not to be disheartened as they still needed reserves for injuries – again his eyes flickered to Achilles' foot – try-outs for that would be tomorrow. At the word – injuries – Achilles’ heel flared in protest, he twitched it, failing this time to resist the temptation but managing to only rub at his thigh.

Odysseus also graciously invited everyone to come to the same party tonight. Achilles was liking this idea less and less.

-

Peleus was an attractive man, though Thetis would disagree. Peleus had near all-over grey hair that was always curly enough to be stylish. Tanned skin that even in the dead of winter seemed to glow, he was fit and always tidily dressed. He had a map of laugh lines on his face from good living.

Achilles found him in the kitchen unpacking the boxes that they had lost on the route from Phthia.

“Dad,” his father hummed, pushing his wireframes up into his hair, “I’m going to a party tonight by the lake.”

“Bodies of water and drunks don’t mix well.” He said with an air of old wisdom like he cracked a parenting fortune cookie.

“I won’t be drinking.”

“Why not?”

Achilles smiled at him. He knew his dad wasn’t condoning underage drinking but more Achilles being rebellious enough to try it. “I have swim try-outs tomorrow.”

“Good boy.”

Peleus wasn’t a strict parent by any means, he only asked for respect, honesty and trust. Achilles was glad when the court sided with his desire to stay with his father, for as much as he loved his mother, he didn’t want to live alone with her. She wouldn’t express a desire for Achilles to act his age, she’d only ask him to act older. Old enough, to seem mature enough, to make life-altering decisions and Sports Illustrated deals.

“There’s this girl…”

Peleus nearly dropped his prized wine glasses, that he cussed over for the last week till the box was found. He straightened, placing them carefully on the counter while taking a seat. “A _Girl_.”

“I kind of – like her.”

“This _Girl_ isn’t because of what your mother said is it Achilles?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it was stern and strained as it was when they spoke of his ex-wife.

Thetis had decided to tell Achilles one night - when they were hotel hopping - that he was behind and likely not working right. All because he hadn’t had a woman yet. She was concerned that rumours would circulate if he didn’t change it soon, because his youth was waning, and it could affect this adult sporting career. Which she added, to his annoyance, was a waste of all _her_ hard work.

_“A sportsman should have a beautiful – but silent – woman on his arm.”_ She had said. She had also said, she would arrange it for him. That had spurred him on in finding someone else first. Deidamia was on the shortlist, first and last because he couldn’t think of any other.

His dad was right as always, it had affected him. He lay in bed wondering why he hadn’t had a girlfriend yet, or why he hadn’t had any remote interest in anything relationship related. He just wasn’t interested; the idea was so far out and so foreign to him. The desire wasn’t there in his day to day life.

“A little.”

“Achilles – my beautiful boy – we’ve spoken of this. You don’t need a partner of any kind if you don’t want one. Live your life how you want to live it, not to your mothers' grand plan for you.” Peleus raised his arms, exasperated at the woman. Peleus was a man who spoke with actions, his arms flying about, his face full of endless expressions. Achilles had often wondered why his father didn’t try acting because he was the most dramatic man he knew.

“But, why aren’t I interested?” It played on his mind a lot. He found himself in recent months staring at couples wondering what it was that made them want to connect. “Am – I broken?”

Peleus reached across the counter gripping Achilles’ forearm, giving it a little squeeze. “No.” He sat back, steadying himself for a monologue. “I’m telling you Achilles, I’ve looked into it on that Google.” Peleus was an old school go-to-the-library to learn man, so this was thrilling (if not amusing) news to Achilles. “It’s possible that you may be Asexual or somewhere on the ace spectrum – I think I said that, right? – but I’m not fully informed on it yet, I’ll keep looking for you and –”

“Dad stop. Don’t. Please.” This is what he loved most about his dad, you could throw a curveball at him and he’d catch it. You could throw another and he wouldn’t drop the last. His dad would do anything for him, learn anything for him, divorce his forceful wife for him. But – it was still awkward for him.

-

A Boy with bouncing curls had run circles in his head, since the time he could remember his dreams.

His brown crown, shining in the springtime sun as he’d hopelessly sprinted away across the sand tracks, fruitlessly trying to outrun him. Trying and trying and trying again regardless of failing. It made Achilles want to run more, for the boy was the first to keep running with him despite losing. He just never gave up trying to keep up. Laughing like crystal bells and looking back at him like he was the blazing sun above.

The Boys skin matching and surpassing bronze under his own pale fingers, as he’d help him up into their favourite sundried tree, (it had a bowed branch that scooped down a foot from the floor and the one above it was scooped and thick enough to sit them both.). Hand in hand, they’d snooze in the warmth of midday cradled by each other and the tree.

The Boys big eyes always intent on everything he did - talking, juggling, running, sleeping - breathing. The way he’d listen in awe as he played the leer, watched completely fascinated as he ran drills, as Achilles simply moved his growing muscles.

He intently watched the Boy too, like he was the moon to his sun, the night to his day. Which he was in those precious dreams. He was the calm of the night, gentle and steady. The silver of the moon was his eyes and his skin shined like the stars.

Achilles had had these thoughts of this nameless Boy since the time he could remember. The thoughts, so intensely intimate, that he never told another person because it felt like giving something up as precious as his own blood. Not even his mother knew of the dreams of the mountains in the long summer days with the Boy that held his hand so tenderly, his eyes holding him so tightly.

It was between him and the Boy.

He lay on his bed drying from the shower, chasing fragments of that very dream for the -unth time as he fought sleep. Wondering not for the first time what his relationship with the Boy was? The dreams had started so long ago, and they never changed. It was always an innocent game, a caring hand to hold and a listening ear. He had told the Boy everything, but he never answered, he’d smile then say, “let’s run again!” and skip off. Even as he changed from a boy to a teenager the situation didn’t change. The Boy was always a solid rock for him who stood by his side and held him up. All he knew was the Boy was precious and he needed to protect him. _Was the Boy gay?_

Achilles had never looked at either girl or boy. This Boy, he had never seen anyone come close to in real life, so it was all imagination and nothing more. His dreams never foretold anything more of their bond. But in the dream, Achilles had noticed they never left that field, they never past the age of 16.

He lay on his bed desperately trying to think of Deidamia in the Boy’s place. Trying to think of her hips and curves, gently lifting her up – her skin milk-white instead of burning bronze – into their tree, but he was too afraid to break her, unlike the Boy. His hands didn’t feel as comfortable upon her as they did on him.

He wanted to sleep. In his sleep he wasn’t broken, he wasn’t concerned about relationships or being gay or being asexual because he had what he needed in those sun-drenched fields, dust tracks and dried trees. A Boy that was with him regardless of answers.

He dressed quickly to stop himself from succumbing to the Boy’s crystal laugh.

-

By the time he had arrived at the open patch, the party was in full swing. Everyone had a drink in hand, various speakers were mashing together different genres of music. It was eclectic and far too noisy. Most people were already drunk, some were already leaving to get more drinks. And by the looks on their faces – they would not be coming back because they were searching for a room.

He loitered alone for a bit, but his solitude was short-lived as the track team saw him. Odysseus leisurely walked over, unrushed and unconcerned as usual. Deidamia skipped over squealing. “You came!” She grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go, her skin was hot and flushed from alcohol. He tested his grip on her hand, felt her fingers around his, but he didn’t feel anything. It was just – simply – holding hands.

Odysseus looked at their hands, arched a thick eyebrow, and shrugged. “I took you for a Greek Love boy.”

“What?”

“Classicist – sorry.” He walked off before he could ask him to explain, strolling over to the fire pit like the world was a burden and he had a thought for everything on his mind.

Deidamia excitedly yattered at his ear about her and her friends’ preparations for this party. How she managed to get the drinks from her parents’ garage and the cups from a shop on the corner because they liked her. She intently watched his face as if he’d react, he gave her a small smile. Her friends crowded around, giggling along, Achilles was dipping in and out of listening.

He watched all the girls one by one, trying to be discreet about it. They were all pretty, they were the cheer team after all, but none of them seemed to care for more than surface level. They twisted their hair and bit their lips at him expectant because he was single. Most of them had barely had a conversation with him.

They all had sweet voices. They all dressed nicely, accentuating their figures. Their hair was pretty much the same, long and ponytailed, held with the school colours scrunchy. What little he knew of makeup told him a certain style was in – as they all had it. None really stood out from the other, but packs of girls scared him, especially when they were all giggling at him and stroking his hair in turn. He had apparently blacked out some form of consent.

Finally, Hector came over, the girls like a swarm of bees turned to him like he had the sweetest pollen. He wrapped his arm around one – Achilles wasn’t sure of her name, but he was sure she eyed the girls the same way he did with slight fear. She was, he knew, one of the smartest girls in school. She was the Biology Student Assistant. She had a sour stern face but pretty, soft eyes. The girls clearly thought they still had a chance with Hector, but even Achilles wasn’t blind enough to not notice they were an endgame couple.

Deidamia weaved her arm around his waist like Hector’s was around his girlfriends. He tried to relax as she did it, act casual or cool about it, but his mind wandered to the sundried trees and himself securely holding the Boy’s waist in place, so he didn’t fall.

“Andromache, congratulations on your midterm placement. When will you be leaving?” Her voice was sweet, but Achilles felt a change in the girl beside him that wasn’t pleasant.

“I’m postponing until the end of school. Then we are going to California together.” She didn’t raise to Deidamia’s bait which made Achilles like her.

“Oh – where are you planning on going Achilles?” Deidamia changed her target, her voice now bittersweet to his ears, she had revealed her unpleasant side too soon. She was much like his mother. He pulled out of her arm a bit, but she dug her fingers in.

“Palmetto.”

“What?” Hector laughed; his laugh was rich with old money. “You can go Ivy, surely?”

“I don’t want to – I don’t want to explain.”

The other boy shrugged, “Fine.”

Achilles was stunned, at his previous school when he told his teammates he planned on Palmetto, they all berated him. Asking if he had lost his wealth or his brain cells to running in the sun too long. Hector didn’t pry, his opinion was obvious but as Achilles hadn’t asked for it, Hector kept it. Achilles liked him too. Andromache and Hector made a good couple, he studied them.

Their shoulders level together, their hands loosely held but they weren’t clinging to each other. It was easy, normal.

Achilles managed to disengage himself from Deidamia’s creeping grip, persisting he needed to go to the toilet – alone because he wasn’t insinuating her following him into the woods. Her wandering hands had been enough for him to wish he was Dorothy and had ruby slippers to leave.

-

The woods were amazing around the lake in the daytime; he ran around them enough to find them enchanting. Breathing in the crisp air and feeling free of the suffocating town of Troy.

At night the woods took on a high fantasy feel like he was Aragorn out around Weathertop. Like he was Arya fighting in the woods. Like he was a Shannara looking for the Elfstone.

The moon split through the trees paving the way, he made it to the lakes edge guided by Wisps and sat for a bit to rebalance and breathe. Perhaps Deidamia wasn’t the best girl to pursue then. His mother would love her. He had a hunch Deidamia had a calculating mind like Thetis and would understand Thetis saying “_You have to be this way_” to gain the perfect image for marketing. That was a pair he’d strive to avoid.

He swiftly got his phone out, remembering Odysseus’ comment earlier, and quickly Googled it. A brief scan of Wikipedia told him all he needed to know about Odysseus and his thoughtful gaze. Odysseus looked and saw everything.

When he found the room to breathe, he started to slowly walk back, wishing he was asleep in his dream world. The music was quieter now, and more to his own taste, the crowd had thinned too which pleased him. A mass of people sat around the fire; Odysseus seemed to be telling them a story. He took a spot opposite Deidamia, but she didn’t take the hint and simply moved to join him as if he had personally asked.

Odysseus’ story was so well worded that when you looked up, you could see it in the treetops. He was a master wordsmith and had the power to hold everyone’s interest in his palm. Every dip and rise in the story came to life with every gasp of shock from the audience. Deidamia clutched at his arm as the story took a darker turn of giants, sirens and sinking ships. He looked to her cowering in his shoulder and looked out over the fire.

The Boy.

He sat enveloped in the glow of the fire, his face a ghostly blue from the light of his phone. He wasn’t wrapped in Odysseus’ story like everyone else. His curls covered his forehead, but the glow of the flames and his phone told him they were brunette, his skin a burnished yellow copper from the strange lighting. But there was no way Achilles couldn’t recognise that face.

The Boy sat opposite him.

The Boy looked up, conscious of eyes on him. Achilles went to look away but found himself cold because it really was _him_. With the blue of the screen off his face, his skin was no longer strange but bronze in the firelight, his eyes like discs reflecting the light and the slice of the moon. He smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes, it was a weary smile, a tired smile. A defeated smile.

Achilles had never had a smile like that from him in his dreams. His stomach twisted.


	2. Missing Poster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Achilles didn’t get to speak with the Boy. One; Deidamia insisted that he walk her home because it wasn’t safe in one of the richest towns in the state? Two; he was worried that he was only hallucinating because he was tired, and desperate for a way out of his mother's arrangement.

Deidamia persisted on trying to get him into her house -- a very big, very clean mansion, with elegant Greece columns, but he kept backing away until she gave in. Whining, and having a little tantrum which only made him want to leave more. She shut the door, only after kissing him on his cold cheek, and to her great annoyance, he was unresponsive.

He trudged home, watching the shadows for the Boy to appear again—hoping that he would, _pleading_ with the Gods that he would—but even when he slept that night, he woke from an unusual dreamless sleep. He ached for not being held in the trees, feeling the sand between his toes, having the Boy’s laugh in his sun-reddened ears.

His stomach was in knots as he ate breakfast, ignoring his dad’s interrogations of the night. _Why hadn’t he had the dream? _He always had the dream. He walked to school thinking it over, thinking over the Boy across the fire with the ghostly blue face, and orange halo. He nearly missed the poster on the school doors before he was shoved in by the morning stampede.

Achilles turned back quickly, ripping the poster off the glass. The photo of an open-faced, innocent brown-haired, bronze-skinned Boy beamed out at him. His eyes huge and welcoming, his front teeth sporting a small gap. It was _His Boy. _

It read – _MISSING – Patroclus. Please contact Philomela_. But there was no number or address.

“Achilles,” Odysseus was at his side, eyeing the poster too, with his signature gloomy distance in his thoughtful eyes. “Sad isn’t it. Pat went missing a month before you arrived. Rumour is, his dad did him in. His mother isn’t all there – she was struck as a child – brain damage. She posts these every now and again, when she remembers, but forgets to put a contact on. It’s all just a tragic mess.”

“Where does she live?” He asked, despair ripping his throat.

“She’s in the Mental Health Hospital, she’s not a threat, so she’s allowed out for walks. They usually stop her from doing this.” He took the poster, but Achilles wouldn’t release it.

“Why do people suspect his father?”

Odysseus looked at Achilles’ white-knuckled grip on the paper, and gradually let go. “His dad’s a violent man. My dad was frequently called to his house for disturbances, but Pat’s dad works for Agamemnon’s dad. So, he was always let off the hook. It’s rumoured that’s why the police stopped investigating as well.”

“Your dad is chief of police, why did he stop?”

“Achilles – this town is Atreus’ town.”

“It’s Priam’s.” Achilles’ voice was strained.

“You’ll learn. This is a town under siege.”

Odysseus went to walk in, but Achilles grabbed his satchel. “Is he alive? The Boy? _Patroclus_?”

“Wow, you can say his name. I’d like to think so, but –”

Achilles stormed off, Odysseus shouting after him as he left the school car park and grounds. He walked as fast as he could without running. His breathing laboured for the first time ever due to exercise, his heart racing too fast for his breath to catch up. He had seen the Boy – Patroclus – last night at the fire. Had they not seen him too? He was on his phone? He wasn’t interested in the Wordsmiths story.

Before Achilles could grasp answers, he was at the police station - slamming the bell at the counter a bit too harshly. It rang and rang until a badge-less officer held his hand hard down on the bell. It stung his palm but every time he tried to flinch free, the officer's hand pushed down harder upon his.

“I need information about Patroclus.” Achilles finally pulled his hand free, the officer’s hand dead ringing down on the bell, silencing its noise as his larger hand completely engulfed it. “Is he thought dead or alive?”

“I need a reason for you not being in school, kid.”

“Please! Please just answer the question.”

“Or what?”

“I just need an answer! Why is that so hard?!”

“Raise your voice more,” the officer sneered, slamming a worn baton down on the counter; Achilles didn’t flinch. That made the officer mad, he went to do it again, but an old man came out at the sudden early morning commotion. This officer had a badge - Phoenix. He eyed Achilles sternly.

“Calm down Thyestes, the boy is new in town. Son of Peleus and Thetis?” Achilles nodded. “What’s wrong?”

Achilles tried to calm himself, breathing through his mouth, he held the photo of Patroclus up in shaking hands, “Is he dead or alive?”

Phoenix’s eyes softened. “Cold case son, no one knows.”

“Why did you stop?!”

“Why aren’t you at school?” Thyestes countered. His eyes were vicious, his eyes reminded him of Menelaus, the captain of the wrestling team. He dragged the baton across the counter, and tapped the tip on the edge sharply, before walking off.

Achilles didn’t wait for Phoenix to tell him the same again, he pushed through the glass a little too hard, and hit the pavement running. Clutching the poster in his hand, crumpling it, his backpack smacking into his back as he ran to the northern side of Troy. He slowed only as his feet hit the driveway of the Mental Health Hospital.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he tried to fruitlessly flatten out the creases in Patroclus’ face, catching his breath on a sob as it had ruined his smile. That smile was like gold in the spring sun, and he had crushed it carelessly.

The reception was icy cold, someone had turned the air-conditioning up far too high, he shivered, waiting patiently at the bell-less counter. His hand still stung from the Officer’s oppressive weight, he nervously rubbed at the red mark that was left. To either side of him, there was a glass door, one had push on the glass; the other had a red line across it’s middle and a lock. There was no music, no flowers or magazines in the reception. It smelt of cleaning fluid; it made him feel sick, his ankle gave a twinge of phantom ache.

Finally, a man appeared, his wiry beard brushing his navel, the thick plait down his back laced with grey, his eyes a forest green. His badge read - Chiron.

“It’s not visiting hours Achilles, Son of Peleus and Thetis.” Chiron caught him off guard with his name, he backed up a little wary of the strange man. “Plus, you don’t have anyone to visit here regardless.”

It was all he could do, he couldn’t speak. He slid the ruined poster across the counter, Chiron took it with his worn but steady fingers.

“Patroclus isn’t a friend of yours, he went missing before you came into his life.”

“Does his mother know if he’s alive or dead?”

Chiron gave a dark chuckle that hurt Achilles, he rooted around in a drawer behind the counter, and brought out a new crisp poster of Patroclus, sliding it back to him. He took it wordlessly, not knowing what to say.

“I believe he’s alive. Menoetius is a violent, vile man but he wouldn’t kill his only heir. If only to make sure his fortune doesn’t go to Priam or Atreus.”

“Then –” Achilles felt a tear hit his cold cheek; he didn’t wipe it off. His hand resting on the photo of the Boy. “Why did they stop searching?”

“Did I not say violent, and vile?” Chiron waved to the push door, “His mother could use a visitor. Come this way.”

The Doctor, Nurse? (Achilles wasn’t sure) led the way. Chiron didn’t say a thing on the walk, didn’t even ask weird questions about the boy who never met a boy caring so much. The hospital was sterling white all the way through, apart from the tight, rough, sand-coloured carpet. Patients sat everywhere, reading, drawing, playing board games. In the far corner a woman with a loose braid, like Chiron’s, and dark skin sat looking out the window at the forest. He knew it was Patroclus’ mother by the roundness of her face which matched her son.

At some point, Chiron stopped walking with him and held back. He didn’t leave though; Achilles was aware that this was likely breaking countless rules, considering he wasn’t family and Chiron was only caring for a visitor-less patient. He sat down by her, and very carefully took her hand. She slowly came to life, looking at him with small versions of Patroclus’ brown eyes, hers were more delicate, her nose was tiny like the Boys too, but her lips were fuller. She had a scar on her temple.

“Achilles?” Achilles stared at her, then looked to Chiron who was watching him like a hawk. Chiron nodded with a knowing looking in his eye that confused Achilles and turned away. “Patroclus will be so pleased you’re finally here. Here –” she pulled a glossy photo from her robe – it was the original of the poster photo. “It’s a cute photo to frame on your bedside until he comes back.”

“Comes back? From where?”

She smiled, “The woods.”

He looked out the window at those dense woods -- the woods on the north side weren’t enchanted like those by the lake, they were thick and wild. They ran up the side of a few hills, and the mountain in the centre was a known hazard to experienced climbers and hikers. The woods were off-limits and were only used by the students of Troy for Halloween purposes. He was told by Deidamia that October would be the _wickedest_ month, now that he lived in Troy.

“What do you mean?” He had forgotten her name, only Patroclus was running through his head. He was ashamed and stroked her soft hand for forgiveness.

“He’ll be back.”

“From the woods?”

“Or the lake.”

He jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder, Chiron smiled at Patroclus’ mother. “Achilles has to go now, Philomela. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

Achilles reluctantly walked off with Chiron. When they reached the reception, he was steered off to the office behind the desk and directed to a chair. He sat, and only then realised he was shaking, the photo clutched to his chest.

“I’m gonna assume, you’re the Achilles that Philomela tells me Patroclus used to talk about. At first, it sounded crazy, it sounded like a delusion of Philomela’s, but having you come all this way across town – during school – with that poster, and the tears in your eyes, suggests it might not be that farfetched.”

“What do you mean?”

“Philomela talks of Patroclus a lot. He is her only son, she told me that he had likely run off to find the boy in his dreams – Achilles – he used to tell her of his juggling and running, of the trees and sand.” Achilles blanched at that scene being told by another, “I thought it was a sweet fantasy, that she concocted to deal with her son’s sudden, suspicious disappearance. She’d tell me how he was so determined to travel the world until he found that golden-haired boy with the swift feet. Because only then would he be happy and safe.”

Chiron pulled open a drawer, and pulled out a file, “Then, Peleus arrived in town with his God-like son Achilles, the next Olympian according to the most recent Men’s Health magazine to quote your money-grabbing, marketing mother.”

Achilles couldn’t act offended, something about Chiron told him it was just the truth, as harsh as it was, he wasn’t intentionally being rude. “I thought it was a coincidence, but your sorry arrival today makes me wonder.”

“Is he alive? In the woods or the lake?”

“Don’t listen to that son, Philomela is ill. As I said, I believe he is, so does his mother. Neither her nor Patroclus have a great relationship with Menoetius, but he hasn’t disposed of his slow wife, has he? He’s just moved her elsewhere for _his deep concern for her health_.”

Achilles eyed the folder under Chiron’s hand, Chiron drummed his fingers on it as if fighting his own judgement. “This is the only report left of the Case of Missing Patroclus.”

“What –”

“I haven’t finished - don’t interrupt me. I was collecting the reports from Phoenix because Menoetius wasn’t keeping Philomela in the loop. She’s slow, not stupid, she knew she was being avoided, and she wouldn’t stop sneaking out. For whatever reason, Phoenix never came to collect this evidence. Likely, because he doesn’t trust Atreus’ men.”

“This is Priam’s town?”

“Is it?” Chiron held the folder up, “I read this, it makes no sense because no investigation is run this messily, but then I’m just a Nurse as Thyestes would sneer. I’m giving it to you, to read and give back. You have some _weird_ dreams of Patroclus too, clearly. I don’t claim to know anything supernatural, I’m a man of science, but there’s something going on here to bring a swift-footed God-like boy like yourself to Troy. Crying over a boy you’ve never met. So read it, tell me what you think. She thinks the woods, the lake’s ludicrous, the woods aren’t a bad idea –”

“I saw him in the woods the other day.”

Chiron looked sceptical. “Really? A missing boy and no one said anything? You weren’t the only one in the woods yesterday evening, us adults aren’t fools, we were young once.”

“I did!” Achilles burst, “Then the poster was put up on the school doors this morning. Until then, I thought the Boy was all just a dream I’ve been having since I was little. I thought I was tired last night until I saw that.”

“Look – I’m not saying you didn’t but no one else did. This goes back to my scepticism about the supernatural thing of this _bond_ you seem to have. Read it, come back and see if you see him again. I’m doing this out of my better judgement because Patroclus is a nice kid, who has a bright future, and doesn’t deserve to be swept away by his vicious father for this shithole of a town. He was a volunteer here to be closer to his mother, and I was training him in medicine, he has a natural talent for healing.”

Chiron drifted off reminiscing, “This is me going against so many rules, and my own good intuition kid and you are a _kid_, so I really am going nuts for doing this – but all paths must be crossed before they are closed.”

-

Achilles walked home the long way, following the wood line. Something told him not to go in though; to trust Chiron, the strange nurse and do what he said. He didn’t think his mention of Patroclus being good at medicine wasn’t intentional too. He was trying to make him not worry about him possibly being alone in the woods. That still didn’t stop him from looking in every few miles, wondering if that was a shadow following him, or movement up in the tree canopy. Then, turning his window into a makeshift bed to watch the treeline until he fell into a dream of blood-drenched fields, torn canvas tents and cold, dented armour.


	3. Achilles' Heel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.
> 
> (Note at the end contains a spoiler)

His sleep was a mess, jagged and jaunting. He dreamt of harsh canvas tents again. The smell of the sea; salt on his skin. Silks and throws and sacks for pillows – a pallet for a bed. The Boy, a Man beside him now. Patroclus’ curls sprayed on the pillow, a red wine bruise on his left cheek, a cut on his lip, scabs on his fingers held tight in the sheets against a bad dream. This sleep was disturbed by something, his eyes rolling, under his closed lavender lids. Achilles sat in the tent feeling the sinew pull of his aching muscles, his limbs had grown a lot, he stroked his ankle, he had lost the adolescent look to his skin and shape. He felt old, ancient.

In the corner – almost as if shrined – a set of golden armour: dented, bent and cracked, rested. A helmet stared back at him, the empty space where the eyes should have been, fathomlessly staring at him. He went to stand but a callous, worn hand gently wrapped around his wrist.

“Will you fight for me today Achilles?” The voice was sweet, deep and rich – pleading, tired and at its end.

-

He opened his eyes, cheek pressed hard against the window of his makeshift bed. The sun was coming up, the mist on the ground around the woods made it eerie. Above the canopy the sun shooting through the chill rose up, dissipating off the branches into the sky.

Achilles ached, his back hurt from the wall, his toes sore from being wedged up against the window ledge to stop him falling off in the night. His knee bent and throbbing. His body painfully tense from the idea of falling out the window and missing a movement held tight all night long. As he rolled off the window, the file Chiron gave him fell to the floor, he gasped in shock, but Chiron was a professional man and had punched holes in the paper to thread everything together. He dropped to his knees hard, a sharp pop in one knee, grabbing for it as it spilt across the floor like blood. He started to cry. Tears welling down his sleep puffed cheeks, his hands clutching at the folder that contained Patroclus’ life.

Patroclus.

That was his name. The Boy in the fields had a name. That sweet, deep, rich voice of the Man had a name. Why had he only spoken to him in last nights dream, why not the others? Achilles wept; he couldn’t stop. He rolled to his side and lay on the floor waiting for the waves to stop but they seemed to only get worse, panic clutching at his throat, worry kicking at his stomach. He sobbed, waiting, looking at his bedroom walls. His home and safe space wondering why on Zeus’ green earth Menoetius could force his son out and away?

Even that war-torn tent on the beach was a better option than Patroclus being alone.

It stopped. He gasped for air sitting up, getting his feet under him wasn’t easy, his thigh ached. Carefully, he wiggled out of the jeans he had forgotten to take off and as he did, as smooth as clockwork, he unclipped the pin at his ankle, pulling off his below the knee prosthetic. Carefully he removed the leg and rolled off the socks and liner, rubbing his tired hand over his stump.

He sat for a bit feeling the air hit his exposed leg before pulling himself up, balanced on his other leg, he sprung himself to the bed and rolled on his loose pyjama bottoms. It had been a year since his accident, a simple fall while running, broken bones and blood not flowing to his foot. He could feel his ankle as if it were still there.

Six months ago, he had a fitting for his first of – he was told many if he continued in sport – final prosthetic and again had to adjust to the weight and feel of it after having learnt with his temporary ones but he was determined. Nothing would stop him running. At home, he preferred the aid of his crunches or practising his balancing skills on his other foot, but tiredness set in quickly and phantom pains always came back to remind him.

He looked to the leg, the file, the time on his alarm clock that read 6.45 am. His father would leave for work soon. He very honestly had a free period first thing this morning, so he was going to bunk off. He made his way downstairs with his homework and his bag to set the scene. When his father came in, he was _making his lunch_ for the day. He smiled to himself, Peleus would probably laugh if he knew he was skiving off today because all he wanted was for Achilles to be more rebellious. But it didn’t stop him worrying his dad would find out and march him to the school gates.

“You’re up early?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Achilles threw some bread in the toaster, “I have a free period first thing so I might catch some more sleep first or just leave for the library now?”

Peleus didn’t even question him; he didn’t even think to say go to school or offer a lift in early. It made butterflies dance in his stomach to know his dad so faithfully trusted his words and he was lying through his teeth to him.

“Your appointment with your Prosthetist has changed, I told her that you were doing good and the final prosthetic seems to be fine?”

“It is,” Achilles unconsciously wiggled his leg, “Do I have to meet her again so soon?”

“She just wants to make sure you’re adjusting to the final one, the socket is intimately fit etc.”

Achilles hopped to the fridge, grabbed the jam, handed it to Peleus then threw the butter on the side too. Peleus frowned at him, so Achilles grabbed a crutch - on the wobble from the poor throw.

“Stop throwing things.” They both said together and laughed it off.

They ate together. Achilles so desperately wanted to tell him of his new dream. It was clear that Patroclus had told his mother about the fields and trees so he should tell his dad about the beach and tents. But something held him off, the dreams were weird. There was another Boy having the same dreams – that was weird. _What did it mean?_ Why were they connected? Even Chiron who seemed wise felt odd about the situation, reluctant in believing such a thing could occur.

After his accident, Achilles had retreated in all his available free time. Any free period between his hour sessions – for relearning to walk – he filled with books. Fantasy books, escapism books. He had only really talked to his physical therapist, who was amazing. They would make up stories of messengers running from one place to another to deliver the victory news, the news – Achilles could run again. He was Pheidippides running from Marathon to Athens and his message was, “I am here, by my own power!”

He was so quiet and read so much that his father worried. But when he was walking again so soon with so much confidence, he realised Achilles had dove headfirst into rehabilitation and didn’t want anything to distract him. Thetis had been ecstatic, her plan for her son was back on track. Telling Peleus now about the dream would seem a by-product of those first 2-3 months of his startling silence. So, he kept quiet.

“I won’t be home till late tonight, Priam has something to tell me and wants it discussed over dinner at his. You can order in if you’d like?” Peleus left a 20 on the counter, knowing fully well Achilles would be ordering pizza. He smiled at him.

Achilles smiled back if only because it was perfectly falling into place, him staying home and researching Troy, Patroclus and Priam Vs Atreus.

-

He lay star fished on the floor, he hadn’t changed from the shirt he wore yesterday or his PJ bottoms from this morning. He hadn’t combed his hair or brushed his teeth. He unthreaded the folder first thing and spread it out over the living room floor. Putting it into his own order.

Menoetius and his story.

Patroclus and his story.

The initial first week.

The second week.

Beyond that.

The closing report.

According to the file, Menoetius was a very wealthy man who was a co-owner of the Argonauts. He was apparently, benevolent and charming. But a quick Google search revealed his string of mistresses and past wives. His third wife – Philomela – was Patroclus’ mother and she was slow from an accident as a child. His treatment of her wasn’t documented but one thing was clear, he married her for money, and she was barely seen again. Then she turned up at the hospital on the north side.

The initial week had been a frenzy of every cop in town, banging on doors and doing jotted reports. Nothing was typed up, all the reports were scanned in. Some were unreadable, others were poorly scanned. _Were they all scanned?_ Achilles read Chiron’s fine script on the first scan that was the most comprehensive. This scan was a bullet point report from Tyndareus’ interrogation, who Achilles didn’t know, from an Officer named Aeneas. It stated a deal between Tyndareus, Menoetius and many other fathers of the children of Troy.

The deal was never investigated. Chiron had noted this too. He had written on the side, _Helen? _Helen had taken Achilles down another rabbit hole. Helen was Tyndareus’ daughter and supposed to be the most beautiful woman to ever lay your eyes on. However, she was at a nameless boarding school in Europe, had yet to been seen by any in Troy, had never been home since birth. Why was Chiron interested in that? Achilles made his own note to ask him.

The second week had died down drastically, Achilles noted the Officers on the case going from everyone to only Atreus and Thyestes. Their only new note was about the mental health of Philomela, questioning her sanity and her obsession with her only son.

Beyond that was pointless. A report by Officer Aeneas was the only valued thing, stating Philomela was innocent by a solid alibi – being with Chiron, seen by several other patients and nurses at the hospital. Again, _Helen_ was mentioned.

The closing report was short, it was written by Atreus himself who, until this point, hadn’t been very vocal on the case.

_Patroclus, son of Menoetius and Philomela, is missing and presumed alive. Conclusion, he is a runaway._

Achilles had stared at that conclusion for about an hour before flopping down on to the floor in the position he is in now. Chiron’s red penned question marks still floating before his eyes. How could the investigation be so poor? What could Officer Aeneas have found to be taken off the case then put back on the case for one report and what would he have discovered if he was the sole investigator?

Aeneas was nephew to Priam so that explained why Atreus and Thyestes wanted him off the case. Presumably, Priam had gotten him back on the case to free Philomela of suspicion because from the scant reports it was clear that was the direction, they were going to close the case in. So, who listened to Officer Aeneas to stop the witch hunt on Patroclus’ mother who Menoetius clearly didn’t care for? _Why had no one interviewed Menoetius?_

Achilles groaned, his head hurt, his back still ached from his window sleeping arrangement and he was beginning to not like Troy even for its great architecture. There were too many names, too many people involved, and the file was all over the place and not all over the right things. He decided after lunch he would write his own report.

-

Achilles sat on his bed, a bag of crisps to his side and a pillow supporting his knee. The best parts of the report spread across the sheets. His laptop opened on a blank page. He had no clue where to start. He wrote down who he needed to talk to – Officer Aeneas, who he learnt was Hector and Paris’ cousin. Priam, who had to have been the one who got Aeneas back on the investigation. Tyndareus for this Helen or her sister, Clytemnestra, who turned out to be Agamemnon’s girlfriend, so there was a risk thereof alerting Atreus or worse, that Officer Thyestes.

He typed away but everything was so webbed together in weird ways – nephews, cousins, sisters, brothers, girlfriends, aunts – that no matter what, he would raise suspicion from the wrong people into what he was doing. He was beginning to see that Troy was a mound of smoke and mirrors. A pot that seemed to have several people without faces stirring it.

The only one who was unconnected was Chiron and to a point Philomela, who was abandoned. He could see nothing else to do but go back to Chiron. He felt useless, his head going around in circles. Surely, Chiron had discovered some more at least?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When writing this story, the idea of Achilles' accident was one of my first thoughts, playing along with the idea that his heel was the only part that wasn't blessed. Being a modern AU, I thought of how to consider it within my story and the idea of him being an amputee with a below the knee prosthetic was one of the first things that came to mind.
> 
> I've researched below the knee prosthetics to the best of my ability, however, if you feel there are any inaccuracies, would like to tell me something about the subject, then please feel free to message me. I will get back to you as quickly as possible and would appreciate any informative/constructive comments on the topic.
> 
> Furthermore, if someone with personal experience would like to help me with this part of the story, Beta Read those areas it is mentioned specifically and tell me how to better write about it, that would be greatly appreciated! Please message me on any of the sns below.
> 
> Thank you, Ashleigh.


	4. Like a Hundred Golden Urns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Deidamia sat on Achilles’ usual bench waiting for him. She was pretty in pink but she wasn’t smiling at him, she looked furious. As he approached, she stood, pulling at her skirt to straighten it and brushing down her blonde hair. She appeared to go to push him, but he carefully stepped back, used to keeping his balance at the last minute.

“When were you going to tell me?” She had tears in her eyes now, his mother would call them crocodile tears. The anger had been replaced by a fake look of concern, “Oh Achilles.” She threw herself at him and held him tight, her leg knocking both of his ones, one at a time. “Your leg, I’m so sorry.”

He now understood the leg knocking, her thigh against his thigh leaning on the lip of the prosthetic, “Who told you?”

Deidamia stood back—“Agamemnon mentioned it the other day, Odysseus wants a word.”

He didn’t stop to talk to her or challenge her blatantly obvious search of his legs but jogged off in the direction of the track field. It was empty, he ran a quick lap checking Odysseus wasn’t on any of the checkpoints. He found the door to the gymnasium open, rushed in and skidded to a halt and nearly slipped over. Odysseus was locked in an embrace with a girl, she shrieked and ran off.

“Cockblock!” Odysseus made to complain some more but Achilles jumped in.

“I have blades if I have to use them, but people think having a blade is extra help on the field. It’s not,” he went to say his rehearsed lie but remembered this was Odysseus who seemed to be a well of knowledge, “Well, it is because it’s less stiff. I run on my daily prosthetic because it’s less of an advantage—” plus he can wear his gym gear in and not show his leg off. He still wasn’t comfortable with people outside of his family physically seeing it.

“Isn’t that bad for you and your leg?” Odysseus asked, his thoughtful eyes looking at Achilles face. “Why did you hide it?”

Achilles stood silent. He had thought to say straight away to the track coach, to the track leader but he was worried this would make people not want to race him. “It’s an advantage.”

“Spring-like design,” Odysseus casually stated, nodding, “But you weren’t wearing a blade the other day? You still ran faster and by a ludicrous margin compared to the others so unless you’re the bionic man or my team is that bad? I won't lie, Achilles, it might put other teams off or make them challenge the rules, but you can train with us still. We’ll figure it out when the season starts.”

“Who told you?”

Odysseus sat back and smiled, “Agamemnon obviously. Don’t ask how he knows; his father is Atreus so—enough said.”

Achilles sat beside him and fixed his leg, Odysseus watched. “Why would he tell people? Especially without asking me first.”

“Are you seriously asking that of him? Agamemnon knew people were already talking about your good looks, your running, etc—it was a shot against you, he took it. Agamemnon isn’t one to be conscious of other people’s feelings. Would you have told us?”

“Yes. I just wanted to get to know you all first.” Achilles stopped fidgeting, “I’m happy with my leg but I wanted to learn how people would possibly react first so I could prepare myself. Like Deidamia for example. Did you know Patroclus?”

Odysseus asked if it hurt him and what Deidamia’s dramatics were like, he responded as he always did and asked him again about Patroclus. Odysseus looked off at the far door, no one was coming. “I wasn’t friends with him, he was a quiet kid, smart. He used to come in with a limp, a bruise or two every now and again but he never said anything. Hector spoke to him more than anyone else.”

He stood up, shrugging. “Oh, and Briseis.”

-

Briseis was easily located even though Achilles had yet to meet her. She sat in the drama theatre all in black with dark red lipstick on and black eyeshadow. She scared Achilles a bit, she intimidated him, but he was determined to not talk to Hector because of Paris who was friendly with Menelaus.

She stared at him with a deep scowl on her face, her thin eyebrows knitted together, her lips puckered. “Why do you need to know?”

Achilles sat beside her, dropping is bag beside himself but not letting go of the strap. He had brought the file with him and his own printed-out report. “Did he tell you of the field and the trees?”

Briseis’ face didn’t change, she continued to glare at him—hard.

“It’s you.” She spat, “_the_ Achilles. For fucks sake.” She stood up and snatched her bag. It hit her back hard as she turned but she didn’t make a sound. He grabbed her free-swinging strap; she came to a sudden stop but didn’t turn back to him.

“So, you know? I have the dreams too—”

“Clearly,” She hissed turning on him, “You know, _I’ve_ been there for him my entire life and he has only ever had thoughts of _you_. A boy, he had never physically met. Now I’ve lost him. I know him for real, _Achilles_, you don’t.” She started to cry, pulling away from him firmly, he released the bag. “Don’t ask me to talk about my friend again, unless you have a dream of where he is.”

Achilles stood, “He was in the woods.”

Briseis stopped. As she turned, she wiped her eyes either forgetting her makeup or not caring about it. She appeared to want to say something more to him, but she just whispered, “Then go find him.”

“I want to.”

She stood closer to him and in a low voice told him sternly, “When you do, take him away from this town.”

-

He wanted to talk to Hector next, but fear stayed him because Hector was on the wrestling team with Menelaus. Hector was friends with Patroclus, but the next best step was Andromache. He found her at lunch, alone in the library. She was bent double over a huge volume of something with a painfully tiny script, three note pads open and three different coloured pens ready to write with. He interrupted her.

“Patroclus?” She rolled her shoulders, rubbing at her aching neck, “Stop asking, of course, I won’t tell anyone! Patroclus was in my biology class, we used to pair up, that’s why Hector was friendly with him. But I wouldn’t say, _friends_, Pat was a very quiet kid. Why are you interested?”

“Curiosity.”

“A morbid one—he’s dead.”

He wanted to argue and scream he wasn’t, grab her by the collar and demand help, that he had seen him in the woods. That the investigation was botched, shoddy, but this was Hector’s girlfriend. “Why don’t you want anyone to know?” He looked at her with fear, “Myself and Hector tell each other everything but I am also a woman of my word Achilles, I’m just asking why you want it so secret.”

“Because he’s alive.” He whispered.

She looked at him with a sort of pity that quickly changed as she pulled her chair closer to his. She smelt of cranberries. “There is a rumour going around. Hector and I noticed Aeneas was looking into it before the case was closed.”

Achilles tried to not reveal his face as she mentioned Officer Aeneas. “Hector and I would quietly sit in the living room when Priam was talking to him about the case, we’d be kicked out when they noticed but we heard enough to piece the rumour together. So—” she straightened, flicked her long hair over her shoulder ready to gossip. Achilles hadn’t imagined her as such a girl but then this was a mystery and she was a scientist, so perhaps it linked somehow.

“There is a rumour about Tyndareus, Clytemnestra and Helen’s father.” Achilles looked to the floor as if preoccupied with his legs position, his ears burned at Helen’s name, he couldn’t believe his luck. “That he had sent Helen to Europe because she was a troubled child, the school specialises in keeping children safe and reforming them and therefore Menoetius – after getting rid of his poor wife – paid Tyndareus to do the same to Patroclus. Because Tyndareus has never revealed where Helen is, Cly doesn’t even know. He did this to his illegitimate daughter, Mytro – who, Achilles, is too stuck up to go to this school, so schools out of Troy can have a claim to the Argonauts. Menoetius has been trying to get Odysseus and Mytro together for years because Odysseus’ father, Laertes, is a holder of the Argonauts too.”

She sat back impressed with herself and waiting for it to sink in. Achilles was confused.

“But doesn’t Odysseus have a sister? So – Patroclus could have – married her?” He wasn’t going to mention the heated gym invasion from earlier either. He had since learnt the girls' name was Penelope, she was a year below them.

“Ctimene isn’t the heir to the Argonauts—firstborn only. Plus, if it’s to be believed, Mytro,” she sniggered, “Mytro was sent out of Troy because she was pregnant with Hercules’ child!”

Achilles sat back, none of that was in the report but Aeneas was on his way to looking into it. But he had seen Patroclus in the woods, so he couldn’t be in Europe with this—_Helen_. “Who’s Hercules?”

She rolled her eyes at him, exasperated with his ignorance, “Hercules is also an owner of the Argonauts, the child turned out to be a girl – Eucleia – and is Hercules' firstborn and therefore also an heir. Therefore, a single-family that will own the Argonauts.” She spread her hands like the world made sense, but it only made Achilles have more questions. _Why did girls talk so fast?_

“Where’s Hercules?”

“Hercules—Achilles, is a good many years older than Mytro, hence the getting her out of town before she started showing. Hercules hasn’t been seen since the scandal.”

“That sounds like a conspiracy theory more than a rumour.”

She shrugged, beginning to pack her revision away. “Either way, there are two people shipped off to Europe and two Argonaut owners conspiring to make a single-family own it. Imagine the wealth and power of the whole of the Argonauts being in one family?”

“What is the—”

“Do not ask what the Argonauts is, I’ve got to go.” She pushed her chair under the table checking she hadn’t dropped anything. “Sorry about Agamemnon, Cly is always saying how he has inferiority issues and you being attractive and talented ticked him off. He likely got his creep of an uncle to look into you.”

He resisted the urge to rub his ankle. “It’s fine.”

“Can you still be on the track team?”

He shrugged, “As a quota, sure.”

She smiled at him with sadness in her eyes that wasn’t pity but genuine, he liked her more. Hector had found a beautiful woman to be with. She squeezed his shoulder and walked off. Before the bell rang for the next period, he quickly scribbled down the new names and the conspiracy theory about the Argonauts. He put some question marks around that as he had no clue what it was.

-

After school, Achilles had planned on going to see Chiron but instead, he went back to the library and looked up the Argonauts. Apparently, the Argonauts were a shipping company—they built ships both military, luxury and private. They also shipped containers around the world with fierce efficiency that few companies could rival.

They were a band of families in the New World era that capitalised off the need to get around the globe not just for the wealthy but the poor who needed to escape colonial rule, a sentence, a financial issue, a scandal. Over time it became more legitimate but there was no end of sites on the first page of the Google search that claimed the Argonauts to be an elite society that dealt off the poor, a secret society that moved everything and _anything,_ they wanted without limits or borders. Reminiscent of the golden age of piracy etc and so on.

The annoying thing was, several names were redacted in over twenty links he clicked; Hercules wasn’t on the list of any either, which only made Achilles buy into the secret society thing more. He shut the computer off a little bit angry and dragged his hand through his hair snagging several knots, pulling at his scalp. He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something.

-

Instead, he ran. He went to the woods and ran the lap he had been running all summer. This time he wore his blade. It was an expensive one his mother tried to buy him with. It was like running on sponge, flying across the track like he still had his leg. He ran until the sun was sinking behind the mountain and still, he was furious. Still, he couldn’t face going to sleep and seeing that tent and battered Patroclus again. The only reason he wanted to sleep was in the hope that the Man in the dream would talk more to him.

He sat by the lake, it’s stillness somewhat calming, something was building in him—it felt like rage. He wondered how deep it was, he wondered why the Argonauts built a shipping empire away from the sea and added it to the secret society proof list. He took his blade off and sat with his head on his good knee, his other leg out straight balancing him. It throbbed from his brutal run, he could still feel his ankle, twisted and bent. He looked to the empty space, but the feeling wouldn’t dissipate.

As he sat, head on his knee, the wind picked up. It was chilly and cooled his sweat to his skin making him even colder, but he didn’t move. He opened his eyes, conscious of a presence and a few yards away from him sat Patroclus, Boy Patroclus, young and still a child from the fields. He stopped breathing. Patroclus was barefooted, his feet covered in dirt from the tracks, his toga was loose from playing in the trees, his hair a frizzy mess from the heat that Achilles couldn’t feel.

He barely moved but began slowly lifting his head to see him straight on. The Boy didn’t move, he was watching the lake too, scanning it. He began talking but Achilles couldn’t hear him. As the wind died down, his voice became louder and louder. So, by the time he repeated himself again, Achilles understood every word and as he finished speaking his loop, he turned to look at Achilles straight on too.

He said it one more time, this time reaching his hand out to him, _“In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”_


	5. Greek Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.
> 
> Extra special thank you to everyone that has left kudos and/or commented so far! I'm so pleased to read that you are enjoying it, thanks for telling me. - Ashleigh.

The room blurred in a tornado-like twister, melting all the colours on the walls together, in a kaleidoscope of mess. It slowed, his hair falling back into line on his forehead and the colours blended back to where they should be. Chiron stood frowning in the doorway at his childish behaviour. “Spin on that chair again kid and I’ll kick you out. It’s bloody broken enough.”

Achilles dropped his feet to the floor stilling the chair. He went to move out of Chiron’s seat, but he was waved down as the nurse took the guest seat instead, frowning as he sat into the cold plastic.

“Tell me what you think then, Achilles.”

He went from the moment he left the hospital. His meandering walk back home following the forest, his makeshift bed that cricked his back, he skipped his dream which was the most tragic event of all. Achilles listed the report he drafted up and mentioned Officer Aeneas, Tyndareus, Laertes, Hercules and Mytro with Eucleia. He spoke of Andromache and Briseis. Then because he was messing his words up, he mentioned Agamemnon and his Achilles heel hurting right now but if he bent to scratch it, he’d only be touching carbon fibre, foam padding and plastic.

“I didn’t ask for your personal issues kid. Schools a bitch, I know, adults don’t just sprout from trees. I didn’t know about Hercules.” He seemed to drift off pondering this new piece of information, “The conspiracy has some good points too.”

“Is the Argonauts a secret society?”

Chiron laughed, his laugh didn’t match his normally stoic demeanour, it was full of life and youth. “More like a rich boys club. The Argonauts is an empire with a lot of wealth and power as Andromache said, it’s worth the loss of a son to secure an empire.”

Achilles didn’t like the sound of that, he handed Chiron the file back with his new information and a bit of his cereal breakfast, he quickly flicked it off to Chiron’s annoyance. “Sorry, I couldn’t be more help.”

“Kid, we have two new people of interest.” Achilles stared at him blankly, “Mytro and Aeneas.”

“You never looked into Aeneas?” Achilles was shocked, he was the first-person Achilles wanted to chase down.

“I did, but I wasn’t aware of the direction his case was going, I thought it was just the twisted agreement about Helen that he had dug back up. Therefore, he was kicked off the case by the rules of that fiasco. I didn’t realise he had gone deeper and into the Argonauts.”

“What’s the Helen thing?” Achilles tried not to blush. He had had several weird thoughts since learning about the theory that Patroclus was sent off to where this otherworldly beauty Helen was. They didn’t make him happy, they made him jealous, they made him green. They made him want to slap Helen like he was in some chick-flick fighting over the “it” boy.

He began imagining Patroclus and Helen exploring the old cities of Europe, walking the streets of Delphi, seeing the volcano of Santorini and it made him envious – his blood boiled. Never mind the fact that he saw Patroclus again and this time, the young version of Patroclus in Achilles' field dreams. Did that mean the one across the campfire the first time was Patroclus _now_? Depressed with baggy clothes to hide himself? He wished he could see him again and this time talk. He didn’t tell Chiron he saw him again; he was afraid Chiron’s better judgement would stop Achilles going to the woods alone.

“Tyndareus and Leda are very bygone traditionalists. They wed Helen off young to the highest bidder in Troy, when she comes of age, she is to come back to Troy and have the wedding of the century with Atreus’ less fortunate heir, Menelaus.” Chiron shook like he was getting off a bad feeling, “At least it wasn’t Agamemnon who is following more in Thyestes footsteps.”

Achilles was appalled, “Wasn’t she a baby?”

“Troy,” Chiron said no more.

“Will Officer Aeneas talk to us?”

Chiron smiled, “If you are to talk to any side, Priam’s lot are the better choice. Aeneas is a true born hero; he would have found Patroclus by now had he been left on the case. He’ll be easy to talk to because he can’t let a case go so easily as being told by Atreus to.”

Achilles sat digesting that and wondering whether Chiron would let him sit in on the conversation when the bell at the desk rang. Chiron left and came back shortly with Clytemnestra. Achilles stared at her; she didn’t even give him a look. “Helen is to return next spring, you haven’t managed to help me, _Nurse_.” She sneered.

Chiron sat back in the chair pulling at his beard, eyeing the girl with a distaste that Achilles felt. “What exactly do you expect me to do while she is not here Clytemnestra? I’m working on it.”

“You’ve done nothing!” The girl screeched at him.

“How many boys at school talk of your twin sister?”

She laughed, it wasn’t pretty, it was sharp and jagged, “Every boy.”

“Has your father not struggled to keep her name off of all their lips for years, so that there won’t be a chance of a testosterone fight on her return?” She nodded, “And now, every boy has a warm feeling for her but has never seen her. The wedding I believe – Leda – is adamant will be in summer. That’s a couple of months for the pot to froth over and some man-child to ruin Tyndareus’ plan. Especially,” he looked to Achilles, “Since people think she is in rapture with Patroclus.”

Achilles blanched, clutching the photo of Patroclus he kept in his pocket. Cly laughed, rocking on her feet, she turned to Achilles for the first time. “Why are _you_ here?”

He didn’t know what to say, he faltered, flapping in the open for a lie but Chiron seamlessly said he was in Greek Love with Patroclus. He gaped at Chiron, then Clytemnestra who didn’t say a thing. Her eyes said she would tell that to the school tomorrow, but Chiron wasn’t finished.

“If Helen gets with Menelaus, then you are all a part of Atreus’ family but if Helen gets with Achilles, she’s got a ticket out of Troy because he isn’t a pawn of either family. However, if people think Achilles is gay then it won’t work, will it? How many boys are wary of Achilles because of all the female attention on him?”

Cly looked to Achilles as if appraising the statement. She closed her eyes slowly, dramatically, and turned her gaze back to Chiron. “You know what you could do to ensure Achilles plays straight-pretend with Helen, so she doesn’t fall into Menelaus’ trap? Find out what your father and Menoetius have been discussing with Laertes, give the information to Achilles and he’ll bat his lashes and whisk Helen away.”

“Why would I let Helen be trapped in another fraud marriage?”

“Because Achilles has to play along anyway because his mother is Thetis who would rather see him drown in the ocean than lay with a man.”

Achilles looked to the floor, at some point he drew the photo out of his pocket, he traced Patroclus’ cheek but kept quiet. This plan helped two people and kept Patroclus away from Helen which made him smile a little. The scheming girl said nothing but walked out, Chiron was staring at him. The man rose and shut the door.

-

“I’m sorry to be so harsh and use you and your emotions Achilles, but Clytemnestra is a very talented scheming woman for her age, she will get information that we would never be able to get. Also, you won’t have to go anywhere near Helen, I can guarantee you that. Every boy in the school is hot for her, one of them will woo her a thousand times more than Menelaus could ever.”

“You think I’m gay?”

Chiron looked at him with a strange expression on his face that he couldn’t decipher. He didn’t say anything but apologised again, and stood to pour two cups of tea. He placed one in front of him and slowly took his seat again.

“When you dream of Patroclus are you happy?”

Achilles picked the mug up, wrapping his cold hands around the heat. He thought of his dreams, his feet buried in the hot sand, tickling his toes. Patroclus’ crystal laugh splashing him with water from a stream, Achilles carefully cleaning off Patroclus’ scraped knees from falling while they raced each other under the sun. The leaves casting patterns over his skin, Achilles tracing them, lifting giggles from Patroclus’ throats.

“You’re smiling like a fool.”

He looked up from the tea, Chiron looked away sipping his own.

“I’m not telling you who you are Achilles but—from that look on your face about a boy you’ve never physically met, a boy you are doing everything to find. Answers a lot. I don’t think you’re gay because I barely know you and I can’t wave a wand and answer it that easily. I’d be a rich man if I could. But – I do think, you have feelings for Patroclus that you haven’t thought about enough to understand yet because it’s so natural to you now in your dreams.” Chiron sipped his tea again, “Plus I’ll bet it’s a dear secret to you that dream that Philomela told me so easily, that you begrudgingly let others know about.”

“I don’t talk about it.”

“Because it’s yours and his.”

He fidgeted, “I saw him again.”

“I figured.”

Achilles wasn’t surprised, “He was young though, in the dreams we’re young. He was sat by the lake and he kept repeating something—I don’t want to repeat it.” _And light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun._

“Is it important to finding him?”

He shook his head, “It isn’t.”

“Then keep your secrets. Be careful at school tomorrow.”

He put his mug back on the side, collecting his satchel. It had been raining all day and his coat was still disgustingly damp, but he dragged it on anyway. Not willing to get ill when they had a new lead to follow. “Is the Halloween party as crazy as Deidamia says?”

Chiron popped his shoulder, “It ain't as wild as it used to be but it’s a good night. Be careful in the woods, no following Patroclus away from crowds.”

Achilles gave him a small smile that Chiron didn’t believe but left it. The walk home was quicker because he had given up following the tree line. Both times he had seen Patroclus it had been deeper in the wood and near the lake. When he got home, Peleus was on the phone, his voice was raised. It had to be Thetis.


	6. Ancient History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Peleus was on the phone for over two hours. His voice rising in waves and shrinking away as he paced the downstairs floor. Achilles lay on his back listening, trying to piece everything together, but his father was a man of few words when it came to his mother. She would be doing most of the talking.

He rolled over, flicked on his music and looked at the photo on his bedside table. He had decided it was time to frame it after rubbing away part of the film on Patroclus’ face. He found a small frame that had a photo of his mother and father in, a hand width apart and not smiling. He had never noticed as a kid that unless he was in the photo too, they never smiled. He remembered insisting they take the photo because he didn’t want a photo of himself on his bed stand. Achilles rolled onto his back and considered Chiron’s evaluation on him and his emotions.

No matter what, he hadn’t been interested in relationships; he had desperately tried but something always got in the way. He couldn’t see the point. But thinking on it now, he had never considered what if Patroclus _was_ real, would they be in a relationship? It had always been in the dream, what would their relationship be in the real world? The Boy had always been in his dreams, Achilles’ dreams had always been so comfortable and easy, he never thought to change the situation around. Their relationship was so natural. _What if he did change it?_

He closed his eyes and thought of school. The long grey halls, the silver and red lockers. The trophy cabinet, the posters, the notice board. He walked to his locker, fiddling with the combination that seemed to jump the number 3 and felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and Patroclus smiled at him. The hallway seemed to glow a little lighter, less grey. He slipped his hand in his as they walked to the cramped cafeteria. Achilles flexed his fingers feeling Patroclus’ warm, soft hand; he smiled at their twined fingers. As they entered the cafeteria, he led Patroclus away from the dark side of the hall to sit in the sun by the window. It was a rouse, the sun made his skin glow and Achilles loved it.

He sat as close as he could to him, their thighs touching, they could barely eat their food but seemingly neither of them cared to move for eases sake. Hector and Andromache sat opposite them, she smiled at them and pride-filled Achilles’ chest at her approval. Hector wrapped his arm around Andromache and before Achilles could emulate, Patroclus had his arm around him and his cheek on his shoulder. He blushed, looking to the side at Patroclus’ brown curls. They smelt of pomegranates and figs.

As the daydream went on, Achilles realised it was easy to imagine it all. So easy to think of himself, hand in hand with Patroclus around the school. Meeting at the gate at the final bell and walking home together. Patroclus coming into his home and greeting his dad, he imagined asking his dad if Patroclus could stay the night and Peleus muttering about _“keeping the door open”._

Achilles opened his eyes, sitting up. _Why would he need to keep the door open?_ He felt his face heat and discomfort near his groan. He lay on his side and thought of it. Patroclus and him asleep in bed. He looked at the photo of Patroclus, his skin feeling heated, his lower back tingling. His hands desired to wander. Patroclus’ skin would be warm and soft and as Achilles’ hand ran over his stomach, he thought of Patroclus’ hands instead.

He sat up again, uncomfortable in the bright lights of his room. He pulled his pyjamas on, turned the lights off and slipped into bed again. Keeping his hands above the quilt. He thought of prom and Patroclus in a suit, it made his throat dry and neck hot, his fingertips felt like they were shot through with pins and needles. As they danced at prom, the scene changed subconsciously. They were old, much older, Patroclus had his worn but still soft hand on his chest and on his finger was a slim gold band. They had _married_ in his mind and Achilles felt giddy at the idea, blushing into his pillow.

Achilles’ hand had slipped under the quilt at that thought too; in his head, he saw them alone in a room younger again, after prom. _Prom night._ He would plan it – he thought – he would buy a room for the night at the Troy castle, the best room, he painted the idea in his mind. He would go before prom and drop flowers, chocolates and their favourite films off. He’d undress the bed ready because he knew they wouldn’t wait, he would close the curtains and put the lamps on dimly.

He’d take Patroclus in blindfolded with his tie and they would—

-

Achilles woke tired but relaxed in the morning, the sun bleeding through his curtains. He stretched in his sheets warm and lucid, he was sated after an illuminating night of exploring and didn’t want to leave his bed. All he wanted was to think of Patroclus again and what Patroclus would do to him and what that would do to his body. His hand began to wander again but as he reached his already bottomless waistline, Peleus shouted he had to get up for school.

Achilles shot up, pulling the quilt around his naked body, afraid Peleus would come in and bang pots and pans together as he used to when he was little. The door didn’t move. He shot off the bed and hopped into the shower, but his mind wasn’t out of the gutter yet. He envisioned Patroclus following him in. He thought of cleaning Patroclus’ hair, rubbing the body wash into his back. Patroclus with his arm around his waist steadying him.

His dad shouted again that his breakfast was in the microwave. Since he knew that meant Peleus had cooked, he finished his daydream and dried quickly. He ate greedily like he had ran a marathon and decided on the spot to do something he was afraid to do. He went to school with only his crutches.

-

Walking in, he noticed people trying and failing not to stare at the bottom part of his leg, but he didn’t care. The only opinion that mattered to him was Peleus’ and Patroclus’, and he knew deep down Patroclus wouldn’t care. It was also freeing. He didn’t realise how much he was holding on to people not knowing until he was ready but ready was a relative concept that had no real answer. He didn’t realise till he walked through the door and noticed that no one laughed, or he didn’t drop dead, that this was the last step. Achilles knew it would be rare of him to not turn up to school without his prosthetic, but it was nice to have the option every now and again.

_Finally_, he had given himself that option to be free and himself.

He got to his locker and unpacked his stuff. Clytemnestra stood beside him staring at his missing limb, “Bravo—at least that kills all speculation.”

“Speculation?”

“Most thought Agamemnon was just being a little bitch. I need to talk to you, but I don’t do private meetings at school—too many people watching—so tonight, at the party. After about 10 because most will be drunk by then. Don’t drink too much so _you_ don’t forget.”

“I don’t drink, I’m an athlete.”

She laughed at him, “You’re a saint.”

“Is there anything really good?”

“If you call good being the old men of this town being power-obsessed and misogynistic then yeah – _great_.”

-

At lunch Deidamia sat opposite him instead of on him, so Odysseus took the rare opportunity to sit next to him instead. Snatching the pudding pot off his tray, and opening and licking it, all before Achilles could protest.

“I’ve spoken with the track coach and he’s afraid of your mother.” Achilles stopped playing with his lumpy mash potato, “Apparently she ripped him a new one and said if you don’t run track competitively, he won’t have a job come the season. He said something about ‘advant—’ didn’t finish the word and she demanded the season schedule. He’s had several strained calls from other schools in the league, approving your place on the team saying it’s an opportunity for inclusion.”

Achilles frowned, not sure what to say other than – “Who will I be racing then?”

“Well—as I said, blade or abled, you’re the best runner on our team by a stupid margin. So, they won’t consider your disadvantage or test it to see what level you should be at, they’ll only put you against the best of the other teams. There are people in the other schools that run faster than you. I checked your history and before your accident, you would have had a 7 to a 10-second gap on most of them but now you’re 4 to 7 seconds behind.”

Odysseus shrugged like that wasn’t an issue, _it wasn’t_, Achilles thought. He had been practising vigorously since getting his running blade fitted and that margin was closing. Before the move to Troy, he was 20 seconds off his abled best on the blade. He was closing the gap day by day, “If you lose and anyone says it’s not fair because of your prosthetic and their able ability, your mother said she’ll drop you anyway because you should win regardless.”

Achilles laughed, _that_ was his mother _all over_.

“Aren’t you being a bit inconsiderate Odysseus?” Deidamia snapped from across the table, looking at her tray intently.

“No. He’s being unbiased about my ability.” Achilles answered back.

“Give Achilles till the season starts, there won’t be a gap, it’ll be a competition. Something I bet you’ve never had to face?”

The smile that spread across Achilles’ face was breath-taking. It was chaotic, full of arrogant attitude. “Is it a competition?”

He hadn’t felt adrenaline for a race like this since he first ran track back when it was only an idea of his to follow out of youthful boredom. He wasn’t about to say it was a competition because he still didn’t plan on losing abled or not. But, the _thrill_ of his disadvantage and the other teams' sabotage attempts was sending waves of euphoria through him because he really was – for once – possibly beatable.

-

Whoever prepared the woods was obviously an aspiring Event Coordinator because it was _perfect_. Hanging from the lower branches were various sheer orange, black and toxic green sheets that guided you to the black roped off area that was canopied with a web of fairy lights. The floor was even swept as clear as a forest floor could be. Tables were set up with neon punch bowls and kegs that Achilles had no clue how they got, all being underage. Food was pilled on other tables and protected by a sheer mesh canopy held up by two top-hat wearing skeletons. The sign around one of their necks said, _“Close the net or eat a fly!”_

He hadn’t really wanted to come, so he had waited until it was 9.30 before walking over. When he got home his father told him about Thetis’ rampage yesterday. She had been keeping his accident a secret until she could organise an exclusive for ESPN magazine, he was thankful that was off the cards now. He had something to thank Agamemnon about, not that he would.

Agamemnon stood to the side of a keg with his brother and the Ajax twins. Clytemnestra wasn’t there but she was stood by the other cheerleaders. Hector was with Odysseus. He went to stand by them, but a rough hand caught him, it was Briseis.

“I want to talk to you tomorrow ok, meet me at the theatre.” She walked off without saying anything more. It made him wary and it annoyed him that she would drop something like that with no explanation. Unless Cly gave him some good news he was not going to be sleeping tonight.

Clytemnestra met him on the dot by the lake, she was stone-cold sober and forgot herself for a bit as she moaned about Agamemnon in front of him. She shook her head, “My father’s deal with Menoetius is to do with a share in the Argonauts. He’s going to give Helen to Patroclus and Mytro to Odysseus, so the three families are united. Menoetius will have two kids in the deal, so his share will be half or thereabout, Laertes and my fathers will be a quarter – give or take. But – I’ve learned from my docile mother that Castor is going to marry Ctimene. Odysseus is infatuated with that Penelope girl below us, so he’ll mess up that side of the deal for _actual_ love and then the only hold Laertes will have will be Ctimene’s marriage to Castor. In order to keep it, he’ll have to make a private deal with Tyndareus, handing over most – if not _all_ – of his quarter. Menoetius and my father are screwing Laertes over - basically.”

Achilles stared at her, confused at her rapid report but she didn’t seem to care, her job was done. “But Patroclus is gone?”

“Clearly not Achilles, because I got this information last night while sat in my dad’s office with Menoetius. Who said, quote, _‘Patroclus will be ready before the return of Helen’_, unquote. They are giving my sister to Menelaus to stop Atreus seeing them screwing him over with the Argonauts, he’s being blindsided with a marriage deal that was dealt 17 years ago but has no clue it’ll be null and void by the _missing_ Patroclus.”

“What does Atreus have to do with the Argonauts?”

“Atreus is trying to take Troy with his marriage deals to me and my sister with the brutes he calls sons. Our father is a very lucky, wealthy man. Our father is selling us to gain more power, Menoetius plans a bid for Troy once he has control of the Argonauts and the backing of money from Tyndareus.” She shook her head at him, “Why do you think he’s been cleaning up his house, his wife, his teenage pregnant daughter—it wouldn’t surprise me if her pregnancy to Hercules was set up too, to gain his share of the Argonauts or make the heir his granddaughter,” she laughed. “It’s perfect really. That happened two years ago, how long has Menoetius been planning this?” She was talking to herself, but Achilles was taking mental notes as she was talking slower.

“We’re all just pawns to our parents in this town.” She laughed again; it was bitter. “Patroclus was likely sent somewhere to rethink his avoidance of women. After all, he was the only boy in school that had no knowledge or interest in knowing Helen. Even when Menelaus flaunted his photo of her to everyone, once he found out he was the lucky winner of the draw for her hand, it got him beat up for his disinterest. No one is going to suspect Patroclus for sneaking in and marrying Helen, a – because he's missing, b – because he has no interest. The rumour of him being sent off to Helen’s boarding school is the answer to their sudden marriage and his disappearance. I guess.”

Achilles didn’t think of Menelaus hitting Patroclus, it made his blood boil. He didn’t think of beautiful Helen and Patroclus, because it made him cold. “So—how does this deal even hold? Especially when the marriage deal is falling apart? How do they trust each other?”

She was obviously in a talkative mood because she actually answered with her theory, “The other families have agreed to protect Helen’s courtship to Menelaus and respect the decision, they suspect nothing. It’s held by some old town secret, that I don’t know anything about, no one talks of it – ever. But, it’s to do with your dad – Peleus – right? Apparently, it’s a similar thing that happened to your mother – Thetis.”

Achilles lost his train of thought, but she continued unaware. “Something will hold them off from getting prissy at the broken deal because of history. Plus, at that point, it’ll be done and too late, Tyndareus and Menoetius will own the Argonauts—I don’t think trust has anything to do with it other than two men with a plan. No one in the town will fight because they will be too afraid to lose what part of the empire they still have. Double deals and history repeating itself.”

“What history?”

“Ask your dad, Achilles, I don’t know. That’s it.”


	7. Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

He sat by the lake, the noise from the party drifting in every now and again. He had a note upon his phone trying to make heads or tails of this news before taking it to Chiron. So far, he had –

_Menoetius had hidden Patroclus somewhere, somewhere near enough._ This made Achilles happy but sad all at once. Patroclus was near but not near enough for him. Presumably, Menoetius was trying to _correct_ Patroclus’ sexuality whilst also keeping him out of the minds of the other families. So, when the time came, it was a blindside attack.

Achilles had done a quick Google search and nowhere around Troy was there a “_Hospital_” that specialised in such a hideous thing. But this was Troy--perhaps it was under a different name. There were a few temples around Troy – Apollo being one of the biggest – perhaps it was worth a look? Maybe the practitioners practised some other things too… Achilles shuddered at the thought, he pulled his arms around himself comfort.

Tyndareus was likely going to get Helen back sooner than spring and wed her off to Patroclus in secret before her summer wedding to Menelaus. Clytemnestra had mentioned the possibility that Mytro’s pregnancy was planned which made Achilles think, that that would be the plan for Patroclus and Helen. If they were married and she was expecting, what could the town really do? The deal that was made 17 years ago, without consent from either party, wouldn’t seem so sweet anymore. It would be a black mark on Atreus’ painfully traditional family for Menelaus to be with a previously married woman with a child. The deal would be null.

Laertes seemed to be the weak link. In Achilles’ eyes, he was the only point that didn’t make much sense. Was he foolish enough to not see that _he_ was the loose end? That he was the one tying off the loose end too, leaving himself _outside_ of the loop? Laertes’ role was clean enough, he would sign a new Argonauts contract bringing Tyndareus into the business. A fresh new partner with a big bank, seemingly a win-win. It only took two signatures to sign in a new shareholder, but they had three because Hercules was still shamed for getting an underage girl pregnant. Another point to Menoetius.

Laertes would then lose it all because Odysseus had fallen head-over-heels for Penelope. Achilles hoped Penelope wasn’t in on it. That she wasn’t working her way into Odysseus’ life for Menoetius, that it was only simply a lucky coincides that worked in Menoetius' favour. He made a note to question her without ticking Odysseus off. Laertes with a smaller share through his own ill timed signature, further weakened by his son’s passions, would be panicking.

Tyndareus would then approach Laertes and offer his son to Ctimene – conveniently as if the thought was always on his mind. But the cost would be handing the share to Caster because – as Cly had said “misogyny” – they wouldn’t trust Ctimene to be the heir. He would by his own hand (again), tie the loose end thinking he had secured his position. Tyndareus and Menoetius as the heads of their families would have control of the shares, control of the Argonauts.

Once the deceit was revealed, likely by an angry Laertes, it would be too late. Helen would be expecting, Patroclus would have not been _missing_ but attending a boarding school in Europe. Tyndareus couldn’t control the throws of love on another continent or reject his beautiful daughter’s desire to marry Menoetius’ son. What a coincidence – they would laugh at the baby shower – that Caster wanted to marry the new heiress Ctimene too! How lucky. Controlled fate, using their children as pawns as Clytemnestra had said.

What Achilles was struggling to understand was what it had to do with his mother or his father? Achilles had been raised in an equally small town, bordered by mountains – Phthia. As far as he was aware, his father had lived there all his life, his mother he knew was from out of town but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of where. Had she ever mentioned it? He didn’t want to call her, but he needed answers.

Achilles sat in the evening chill staring at the note he had made, trying to make it fit together into the truth and the answers. The music was still playing, no one had come to look for him which he found a little odd. Perhaps it was paranoia and wracked nerves from all the conspiracy theories and deceit in the town, but he had an urge to hurry back to the bonfire. He walked back a little faster, clutching his hoodie around him. The night had come, and she was cold. As the music got louder his nerves calmed until he realised no one was there.

The party site was abandoned.

Everything was where he left it, but no one was present, the fires still burning like they were only just stoked. He looked around and called out to Odysseus. He called out for Hector and Deidamia. No one responded. He pulled his phone from his pocket and was surprised to see the strong reception he had had was no more.

His mind raced for answers of what to do, _what was happening?_ Paranoia got the better of him, his first thought being Clytemnestra had done something. She had not heeded Chiron’s plan and had told Agamemnon or worse; Menelaus and they had planned this. That they were angry he was looking into the missing dead Boy, that Cly wanted Helen to wed Menelaus. That she had outed him; his feelings for another boy that he still barely understood himself.

He turned quickly to the sound of snapping branches expecting an ambush, but it was only a fox. It stared at him, its eyes shifting over the scene then it quickly ran off. He turned again, but this time it was the snapping of the branches in the dying fires sending sparks up into the trees.

He had options, it was a 10-minute run from here to the outskirts of the woods and then a 10-minute run to his home but that would be leaving the light of the fires that gave him a sense of protection. He looked under the sheets on the tables, perhaps they were pranking him, the new kid in town. His first Halloween Party, Deidamia had said it would be a night to remember.

It wasn’t funny he shouted to the night.

A snap behind him and he was staring at Patroclus.

Patroclus from the other night at the bonfire, his hoodie drawn up, his face hollow and tired. He screamed at him. He screamed loud and shrill. Again and again and again. Gasping for air each time. As he screamed something came barrelling through his small body in a violent spray of warm blood. It ran, headfirst at him, gleaming horns painted red and dripping. The droplets hissed in the fire as the flames caught them. Patroclus’ final scream, accompanied by Achilles’.

Achilles ducked and rolled to the side in the nick of time, he felt his leg pop at the pressure. He slowed only enough to stamp hard on his foot, hearing the reassuring click before running. His phantom pains flared as he raced out of the safety of the bonfires. He was going in the wrong direction, but the Beast was surprisingly fast for its bulk. Turning its head that was too big for its body, whipping its horns around to face its target. Its snout, dripping with spit and blood. _Patroclus’ blood_. Achilles bit his tongue.

Achilles knew the tracks but not how fast the creature could run on a straight. He knew the woods but not how well his leg would hold at night over terrain he could barely see. The thing bellowed behind him on the chase. He ran faster. As he ran, he tried to pull his mind together enough to plan – get to the track, race it to the nearest edge for the shortest amount of time then loop quickly to head back the right way. His leg was clicking, the ominous plastic sound of damage. His phantom ankle felt exposed, he was tripping every couple of steps but stopping wasn’t an option. Running longer to loop back around wasn’t either, his leg was on fire.

He had to find a place to hide and stop, a bush, a tree.

Patroclus ran beside him. Achilles nearly fell with the shock and pain at seeing him covered in blood but somehow whole. His chin and chest plastered red; his clothes ripped. He sharply pointed and ran off to the side, unable to speak, his throat wounded – ripped open down to his left rib cage. Achilles followed, his leg clicking more. The Beast’s breath heavy on his back, Patroclus stood out in the lake.

The Boy stood in the cold water of the still lake up to his waist, the water turning darker around him, his hands out to Achilles, beckoning him into the water. He had no way of telling where to step in the dark, no way of telling what the bed of the lake was like, but he had no choice. The _Minotaur_ broke the tree line, its breath streaming up into the chill, the blood black on its muzzle. Achille stood in the lake beside Patroclus. Patroclus joltingly moved to stand in front of him, his arms outstretched as if to shield him. It was clear from behind that Patroclus wasn’t right, how he was held together Achilles didn’t know. It made him sick.

The half-man, half-bull bellowed again, waking the critters of the woods in rage, but it would not touch the lake. As it bellowed, Patroclus before him seemed to shift as he screamed a bloodcurdling screech back at the Beast, losing form and shape. The Boy, like a bucket of blood, splashed into the icy lake, darkening the water further, staining Achilles’ skin and clothes.

Achilles screamed. He screamed and screamed, throwing his hands into the icy depths searching fruitlessly in the harsh now warm liquid, his hands awash with blood. Touching nothing. _Nothing_.

The Beast was gone. A sickening pool of red where it stood left in its wake, the lake slowly draining it away. Achilles couldn’t move, his body ached with the temperature of the water. His skin freezing with goosebumps, his leg cramping. He shook violently, his teeth chattering. Eyes staring strained at the surface of the water as if expecting the Boy to surface whole again.

“_Achilles._”

Patroclus stood on the shore. But not the hooded boy this time, but the young boy from his dreams, perhaps a few years more into adolescents. He stood where the Minotaur had been, the blood lapping over his bare feet. His attire white, a toga, clasped at the shoulder with a golden pin and cinched at the waist by a knotted length of gold rope. His hair longer than normal, grown out with freely bouncing curls.

He held his hand out to him. His toned wiry frame, that of an athletic young youth, not quite a man but on his way to being one. Achilles had never seen this Patroclus before, his face was warmer towards him, as if he knew him differently, but not as tired as the older Patroclus in the canvas tent.

He stiffly moved, the water felt icier around him as it swirled, disturbed. He took a step forward but found his prosthetic missing.

“Leave it.” Achilles looked to where he had stood but found nothing there to grab. On a knee, the water to his chin, he made himself move forward, feeling the smooth sand of the lakebed on his stump. Patroclus met him. He pulled him up, wrapping his arms around him as he steadied himself, the water weighing him down. His body fatigued from the sudden cold and harsh run.

But Patroclus was warm. Warm as if he had previously been laying in the sun, bathing in it. He stood closer to him, the heat radiating off in waves and they began to walk back to the town. He had no clue as to the way he was going but it wasn’t back through the bonfires. Adolescent Patroclus was taking him another way, he kept him warm by keeping close. The walk was hard, slow and quiet. Achilles’ teeth chattering, the crickets and disturbed creatures the only other noises. Achilles noticed that Patroclus’ feet were clean, spotlessly clean for someone who was recently stood in blood and walked with bare feet through a wood. His feet made no sound, his toga made no rustle.

Finally – they stopped. Not a moment too soon as Achilles felt his eyes drooping to the cold chill climbing his back. They were in his garden. The light was on in his room, illuminating his make-shift window bed, his father was pacing in the window seemly shouting down the phone.

“I’ll leave you now, Achilles.” Slowly so as not to make him fall, Patroclus let him go but only stood back when he knew he was balanced.

“Wait, come inside.”

The Boy smiled at him but continued to turn to walk away. Achilles watched as long as he dared, the Boys retreating back, he seemed to glow with golden light like he really was bathed in the summer sun at high noon. He walked away so leisurely you’d think nothing odd had happened that night, he stroked the trees as he walked away and only looked back once. Smiling a sunbeam of a smile before disappearing behind the denser trees.

Achilles, bone-cold, crawled across the garden and banged on the patio doors, too tired to right himself or care.

Peleus was there in a second.


	8. Fates and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Achilles woke in Peleus’ bed. The last time he had slept in his father’s bed was when he was scared because a bad man was going to cut his hair and sell it for gold. He was six. Achilles rolled over under the weight of–seemingly–three or four quilts and was hit suddenly by the unbearable, suffocating heat. He quickly pushed the sheets away and shouted for his dad like he was six again. Peleus was there with a tray in an instant, it smelt of bacon and eggs, his eyes were tired from lack of sleep – his hair bedraggled.

“You’re awake.” Peleus placed the tray on the bedside table and sat beside him. His hands all over his face, his shoulders then the back of his hand on his forehead. The other on the pulse at his wrist. His arms pulling him into his chest fast but gentle, stroking his hair and rubbing his back. Peleus finally held him at arm’s length, done fussing over him and in the sternest voice he could muster against his golden boy asked him, what the hell happened last night and where was his leg?

Achilles looked to the tea, Peleus handed it to him and waited for him to have a drink. In those few seconds, he had decided to tell him everything from the beginning with the poster. Once he had finished, however, he told him some more to fill in the blanks.

-

“In the dream, I always wake on the beach. The sun is always high, it’s always noon but for whatever dream-like reason—it’s not boiling. It’s like the sun at midday but with the perfect heat of the afternoon. That’s the good thing about dreams isn’t it, everything is perfect. The sand is white and warm, the ocean stretches as far as I can see, the horizon undisturbed by anything. Crystal clear, icy blue. There are noises of birds, pleasant tweeting but no actual birds? I sit up, sand falling from my loose hair, it brushes my shoulders. Salty and dry probably from swimming in the ocean. I always rub my eyes as if I’m waking up from a dream. Like – real life is the dream and the dream is – actually my real life?

Anyway – I stand, brushing myself off. I only wear a toga of sorts, like in Ancient Greece or Rome, I feel like a Prince – white and lined with golden thread, it’s soft. A thick gold rope at my waist, loosely knotted at the side, the fabric clasped at my shoulder by a golden pin in the shape of an arrowhead. When I turn inland, I see him. He stands just on the grass. There are patches of grass here and there. But, the land must be used to the sun and sand because it’s more golden and brown than green. He stands there, he’s my age but a bit shorter. I have a feeling that I’m more advanced for my age; special for some reason. Faster, stronger – gifted. But the Boy – Patroclus – never seems to give that any thought.

I walk to him and once I get to him, I always do the same things. First, I brush his hair from his forehead because it’s in his eyes and I like to see them. They’re a deep brown, rich – big polished discs that catch and hold the light. Then I adjust the similar pin at his shoulder because he always has it pointing to his neck and he falls down a lot, which makes me nervous. Finally, I take his hand and we walk away from the beach. For whatever reason I always look back at the ocean and look at the harsh rocks expecting to see someone watching but the rocks are bare, perhaps the water is a little darker like something is beneath the surface but—

Patroclus’ hand is warm and soft, sweaty from the heat. Then he abruptly pulls it out of mine and sprints across the dust tracks through the short trees. He runs at his full speed, that’s why he falls a lot because he isn’t steady. Dust kicks up everywhere, his feet – like mine – are perhaps the roughest part of him because we never wear shoes. We don’t have to.

I catch up to him, but not too soon because I like to watch him look back and smile at me when he realises I’m chasing him. I always follow him; I always chase him. I could outrun him and sometimes we do race because he likes to watch me run too but—I like him feeling like I would follow him anywhere because I would.

We get tired, or he does. For some reason I never tire, I’m always ready to run, to fight. We go to the shade. Again, it’s a dream so the shade is perfectly cool, but not so that you get goosebumps from being out of the sun. The smell of the heated branches is rich with apples and such smells. I lift him up into the tree. He smells of summer – heat. He smells of figs, I don’t know where we get them but there are always figs to eat. The juices sticky on our fingers as we sit in the trees eating. His skin is soft, supple, it’s burnished bronze. We end up at the base of the tree again because he gets sleepy and I get nervous that I won’t catch him slipping out. His head rests on my shoulder, his hair smells of citrus. Unlike mine, it’s soft because for some reason he won’t go to the beach or near the sea. He’s afraid of it for some reason. He always watches the rocks too, expecting something or someone.

Sometimes, if I don’t fall asleep too, I give him a piggyback to the stream. His breathing passing my ear, his skin on my back. Once there, we play in the cool water, usually naked because we can, it’s our island, why not? Then we lie on our togas and he brushes my hair with his fingers, getting all the knots out. While I watch the water split on his skin as the sun evaporates it away. I trace the leaf patterns on his skin from the trees, but it makes me sleepy.

I try not to sleep but I do, I never want to sleep—usually, my head is on his chest and then I wake—”

-

Peleus sits on the end of the bed, his eyes closed as if envisioning Achilles' dream. He sits nodding, his fingers knotted together.

“I keep seeing him in the woods dad. He saved me last night but there was two of him. He’s the missing boy in the town, the Boy in my dream.” Achilles wiped the tears from his cheek. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

“Don’t apologise for having a dream Achilles. You don’t have to tell me your secrets, especially something so personal. But—I would have preferred you tell me you’ve been investigating the disappearance of Menoetius’ son.”

“You know Menoetius then?” Achilles was worried, Cly had mentioned his mother and father had connections with it all, would his father confess something?

Peleus, moved off the bed, placing the tray on Achilles’ lap. He walked around the bed and sat on the other side pulling one of the quilts over him. Settling in for apparently a lengthy conversation.

“I do.”

“How?”

“Helen.” That woman again, jealousy stirred in Achilles.

He started to eat his breakfast, in the hopes that Peleus would start talking openly without needing to be prompted. He was starving, his stomach growling at him as he wolfed down the fry-up. Being chased Zeus knows how far in the woods had obviously taken it out of him more than one good sleep could handle. Only when he finished eating however did Peleus start.

“17 years ago – Tyndareus knew that his daughter Helen would be the most beautiful woman in the world and people would fight for her. The Fates said—_‘Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium—'.”_

“He gathered the Argonauts and the other big names of the town, announcing that someone would gain Helen’s hand. He was not at the time an Argonaut. Though by what you’ve said, he’s gonna be. Which makes sense with his deal with his own daughter.” Peleus shook his head, “Everyone was there. Menoetius was there, his wife Philomela had just had a son, Patroclus. Timely, because that meant he was eligible for Helen’s hand—or his son was to be exact. Thetis had wanted me to go and pledge you into the pot.”

“What?”

“I went – because I am an Argonaut. Nothing more. At the time, no one knew Thetis had had a son or was even pregnant because of her own conniving.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“I’m getting there Achilles.” Peleus continued, staring at the vanity set that was once his mothers. “The Argonauts—as I’m sure you’ve found out is a shipping company. I used to own several of the warehouses that they run out of. I’m also a keen sailor – or I was… I met Thetis at one of the warehouses. She was young, beautiful, quiet which made it hard to get to know her, but we did, and we got married. She fell pregnant with you and then everything changed. There are two sides to the Argonauts, the very legitimate business and the very illegitimate business. Once we were married and she was expecting my child, she told me she had come from that darker side of the Argonauts.”

Peleus seemed to drift off for a bit, staring into space, staring at the old white vanity set as if seeing the scene again. “She used to sit there taking her makeup off after we had come home from a gathering at one of the Argonauts houses. She was, still is, stunning but as she’d take the makeup off, she’d change. She would impatiently persist on having sex because she wanted a child. I thought it a maternal need to have it all, the marriage, the family, the picket fence. I thought it cute and I wanted a child too. She sat there with the pregnancy test one night in her thin hand and told me everything. Then told me I was stuck with her for 16 to 18 years and she would make sure in that time, that she would build a life that was an ocean away from me with her child.”

“I don’t understand?” Achilles felt sick.

“She was taken from her home Achilles. She was brought to Phthia and given to me. Not willingly. I was the fool who had no idea – still have no concrete idea. She was a smart, cunning woman even then. She realised she had an opportunity to gain freedom and power despite the situation. Taking my wage, my home and my child. What she didn’t expect, however—was when I found out I was appalled for her. At myself too for not knowing, at the Argonauts for going that far. I knew there was some illegal stuff but not that. Naïve - I know. I swore to protect her, I swore to never touch her again unless she wanted it. She never did. She tried to take you, so I made sure she couldn’t.” He stopped almost too fearful to go on.

“I had nearly married before, from that I knew a prenup was essential. I am a businessman after all; this woman was beautiful, but I knew nothing of her because she was so quiet. So, I made sure she would have nothing if she was having me on. I never expected to actually use it against her. I thought I would have burnt it instead once I knew more about her. Now – it became my only tie to keeping you.” He looked to Achilles and reached out for his hand but didn’t take it, waiting for Achilles to decide whether he wanted to or not. He did, his father's hand was trembling.

“So, we stuck together. She kept her pregnancy a secret because she was afraid of the Argonauts that had brought her across the seas, she had no power at the time to do anything to them. Which meant, you were never in the deal for Helen.” He smiled, smiled like that was the best thing ever.

“If I had known Achilles, that your mother was forced aboard a ship and given to me. I would have never married or slept with her; I would have done anything to get her back to where she wanted to be. But – like I didn’t know her, she didn’t know me. So instead, she planned everything: the marriage, the pregnancy, the guarantee of some safety. Not knowing I was nothing, am nothing like those other men.”

Achilles sat quietly, stroking his father's worn hand. His mother’s bitter resentment made sense now. Her attitude towards men and his father (even if unfounded) was clear. He was also beginning to understand her desperation in his own future, “You were an Argonaut?”

“I still am.” He swallowed, “I kept two warehouses. Two that I investigated privately until I was 100% sure they were legal and running legal activities. With them I’ve kept your mother reasonably happy in the life she never wanted and raised you. Now that we’re divorced, I’ve given her one of the warehouses so she can continue living the life that she wants and—do from the inside whatever she wants to them. We may have had to stay together because neither of us wanted to lose you, but it wasn’t all bad. It was around your 5th birthday and our 6th anniversary that she finally seemed to realise I wasn’t one of them.”

“Why so long?”

“That’s a question for your mother Achilles, I don’t know. She has gone through so much. Would you trust a man that you were wedded to over the sea, who seemingly was in on it?”

“Why weren’t you in on it?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. To this day I don’t know why she was brought here, but to protect my family – even as fractured as it is – I’ve stayed away from the Argonauts since.”

“Why come to Troy now?”

“Priam asked me.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s had enough of the Argonauts doing things they shouldn’t be doing. From trafficking to using this town like a shield. He suspected Patroclus’ disappearance from the start, along with other such acts. Also, you don’t see what is right under your nose.”

“Plus, you know my mother wouldn’t dare come here.”

Peleus looked away. He looked back at Achilles, straight in the face and nodded, “Yes and that. It’s cruel; I know, but she isn’t just a victim Achilles, she is a smart woman who knows how to get what she wants. She had gotten what she wanted from her fractured life. She has also never tried to go home because as far as I’m aware, she does prefer her life here. I see what she is doing to you. She is moulding you. Making you into something or someone, living the life that she wanted but never had. Sending you to the stars because she couldn’t reach. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but bringing you here was the last resort to stopping her from controlling your life.”

“I should call her and tell her I know.”

“You should.”

Achilles left the room, he hopped to his own bedroom and went to close the door but felt there were enough secrets in his house, why couldn’t his father hear this conversation? He sat on his bed and called his mother for the first time in six months, she answered on the second ring.


	9. Three Trojans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.
> 
> We are halfway through - thank you so much to everyone that has left kudos, everyone that has commented and everyone that has silently read! It means a lot to me, and although I know there is room for improvement, I've learnt so much since working with Beta Readers (have a few nasty habits...), hopefully my fics can only get better. Thank you again, I hope you all continue to like the story! - Ashleigh.

What Achilles hadn’t expected at the end of his three-hour phone call with Thetis, was a sharp knock on the door the next morning around five. Her willowy frame on his father's porch, with two large suitcases and an unknown—scary looking man—behind her.

They all sat quietly at the kitchen table; now knowing the truth, Achilles felt strange with his parents in the same room. They, however, seemed to be more relaxed than ever before with him knowing, his mother even smiled at Peleus when he offered coffee. It freaked Achilles out a little, he resisted the urge to furrow his brow and stare at her. The man was Nereus, his grandfather, which did make him stare. Thetis didn’t say how, or why Nereus was here. The man barely spoke. All Achilles could think was, was this the man that sold his daughter? Had he known about the Argonauts? Why was he here now, knowing the situation?

“Tell me again who this Boy is?” Thetis had not taken kindly to the story of Patroclus; she had failed at repressing her disgusted look at her son as he spoke of him. Her pitch eyes glared at him and through him as if she wished not to see or to hear him speak such things. Like she couldn’t comprehend that it was her son.

“I’ve told you everything.”

“Tell me again.” She snapped for the third time as if his story would change the next time around.

Achilles shook his head, done with handing over the only rays of light in his life, “No. I have a school to go to. I suppose you two must talk as well with Priam. I’ve got to go to Chiron as well.”

“You will not defy me!” Thetis stood with all her elegant might; her dark eyes boring into him. Peleus clenched his fist, but Achilles had told him not to interfere with his mother and his relationship now that they were divorced.

Achilles faced her, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I will. I am not clay. I am not a subject for you to mould.”

Peleus faintly smiled.

-

If he expected people to be different at school, he was mistaken. It was like the party never ended so abruptly or badly. He only asked once what happened and the response was bland – the night was over, they had run out of drink. He was unsure of the truth now, unsure who to trust. Achilles walked the corridors and watched everyone’s faces, searching to see if any of them were watching him. If any of them knew his mother was in town which she had assured before he left that no one did. Something in her jaded voice made him believe her; what happened last night between the three of them had given her an opening to wreak havoc on Troy.

In the gyms changing rooms, he prepared for track, he had to use the old prosthetic until a replacement was made. It meant trial and error which took longer than he liked. Hector sat opposite him to openly watch as he rolled more socks over his stump to try and intimately fit the leg.

“How did it happen?”

He didn’t look up but recited his quick story he gave to everyone that wasn’t a friend.

“You’ve been asking about Helen.”

“How do you know?” Achilles looked up sharply as he finally had a snug fit, his eyes roaming over the changing room.

“No one is here. I know because you need to be more careful.” Hector pulled his phone out, quickly reading a text. “Paris is in contact with her. He’s also obsessed with her and completely blinded to her manipulation. I don’t know what the hell she wants but she’s a scheming bitch and he’s stupid.”

“How is he in contact with her?”

“Because Menelaus is cocksure.” He responded to the text with a furrow in his brow, Achilles was getting more and more paranoid the more he watched, so he brazenly asked.

“Who are you texting?”

Hector stared at him, “Andromache.” He sighed, “she didn’t have to tell me you’ve been asking about Patroclus. Patroclus told me about you, so when you arrived, and Odysseus told me you went crazed over a poster of him – I knew you were _the_ Achilles.”

Of course, Odysseus wouldn’t stay quiet, but Achilles did think it was wise that he told Hector. Who, when he was ready, could search Achilles out. Hector looked to his phone again, his frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“When I say obsessed, I mean Paris is willing to steal to get to Helen. Andromache is keeping an eye on him but—he’s in the woods.”

The Minotaur flashed in Achilles' mind. Paris and his pretty-boy frame accompanied it—crushed. There was no way that sensible Hector would believe there were monsters and ghosts in the woods. Achilles barely believed it. But to protect Paris – perhaps if he half revealed the Argonauts plans Hector would listen. If he confessed his feelings for Patroclus, which wouldn’t be hard because Hector must know already, Hector would hopefully understand Achilles’ desire to get Paris in on the plan to steer Helen away. Paris would also be angry and in on it, because of his love for Helen. Odysseus loving Penelope meant, they could all, singlehandedly, destroy the Argonauts plan.

Achilles would keep Patroclus away from the most beautiful woman, who people would fight for and selfishly keep him all to himself. Thanks to Hector’s obsessed brother.

-

With that, Hector and Achilles both walked to the woods in search of Paris and Andromache. The bonfires were all cleared away and there was no evidence of the blood or footprints of the bulking Beast. There was also no sign of Paris or Andromache. Hector had his phone to his ear, he had signal? Achilles consciously checked his and he too had signal. Perhaps that night didn’t happen? What would drop the signal out when it was so strong even deeper into the woods and by the lake?

“—Ok, see you soon. They’re over by the rock face.”

The rock face was the sheer climb on one of the most dangerous sides of the mountain. It was a sheer, straight up face with jagged and mostly loose rocks that when the ground shook, the skies shook, the wind was a little too harsh—a shower of rocks fell to the ground.

“Why would they be there?”

“Because,” Hector shrugged and rolled his eyes, “Paris is a drama queen, he’s dramatic as hell and likes the aesthetic.”

Walking there was hard going, Achilles was tired half-way there, his leg cramping from the rough terrain. Why on Olympias would they come out this far? He voiced as much and Hector only grunted, not elaborating further on Paris’ stupidity. His breathing was also laboured which made Achilles not feel so bad for slowing them down. Finally, through the trees, the slate grey face of the mountain could be seen. They didn’t shout, the rocks were too fragile for even that.

Andromache came into view leaning away from the mountain, against a tree. Paris was nowhere to be seen. When she saw Hector, she was only slightly pleased, her face was sour. Achilles could only put it down to her, not like Paris’ fixation with Helen, a girl no one had met. Andromache had always been a very sensible woman.

“Finally, he’s wailing.” She waved towards a crack in the mountain.

On a closer look, Achilles could see the crack opened out, it was a cave. He was shocked, surely that wasn’t the safest place to be? Hector went to Andromache, a look of worry on his face, he held her hand close to himself examining something on her palm. “You’re bleeding?”

“A little.” She hesitated.

“Achilles, go talk to Paris, tell him what you told me. We shouldn’t stay here long.” Hector carefully stroked her hand as he said it, lost in trying to heal her pale palm.

Achilles slowly picked his way around the rocks, he too wanted to get away from this place. His leg was on fire, he could feel an ache that meant bruising. He hadn’t fitted his prosthetic intimately enough. It was rubbing, it was irritating him, he wanted to talk to his mother more. He wanted her to hug him because she hadn’t since he came out. He reached the crack and slipped in but only a little, too wary of the slipping rocks.

“You won’t ruin the deal with Helen,” Paris shouted at him, at the top of his voice, loud and sharp. He was on the outside of the cave. Achilles looked back confused, he saw Andromache avoiding his face, Hector looking at her perfectly fine hands and Paris, stood in the crack with a baseball bat.

He brought the bat down fast, forcing Achilles to jump into the cave. He swung the bat back up to hit the top of the entrance. It was all rapid after that, the top dropped down almost instantly. It didn’t completely block the exit, but it made it impossible to get out. Achilles could see Paris’ crazed face through the opening, Hector and Andromache already walking away.

Paris stood dangerously close to the loose rocks, “I won’t let you ruin Helen coming home early for me. Patroclus be damned.” He hissed, as he smashed the bat on the rocks one more time, only effecting some rocks further up that rained down on himself. He saw the shallow cut blooming open on Paris’ face. His hand hovered over it; the smile never left him.

He would have shouted in anger; he would have hit the rocks that blocked his way, but the ceiling was already shaking. He stood, quietly in his rage waiting for the rocks to still again.

His phone had no signal.


	10. Philtatos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

His only option was to follow the cave in. In doing so, he realised that the cave was far more stable inside so at least he was somewhat safer. He was infuriated, what had gone wrong and at what point had Andromache lied to him and told Hector, for him to tell Paris, to then manipulate him to this? He couldn’t hate Troy more if he tried. _Why was everyone so against finding Patroclus?_ What did Paris think was going to happen when Helen returned? That they were going to sail off and be happy together?!

Using the light on his phone, he found a place to sit and think. The rocks around him were different deeper in, they were _pink_. He held the light over them, they were clear pink, smooth to the touch. A precious stone, perhaps quartz? Achilles lay his head against them trying to think. He couldn’t. All that went around his head was everyone was using everyone. Patroclus was being used by Menoetius, Tyndareus and Laertes and now seemingly Paris, Hector and Andromache—for whatever reason the latter two had. He couldn’t figure out how to escape because he couldn’t figure out Hector and Andromache’s involvement. They seemed too smart to care for such things. Briseis was his only hope if she remembered that she wanted to talk to him today and cared enough to look for him.

He groaned in frustration, in his haste to jealously get Patroclus out of the loop with Helen, he had caused his own downfall. He was so angry, so infuriated with rage. He tried to breathe, counting to one hundred and back. A breeze hit his face but not from the direction it should have been.

He knew the rock of this mountain was loose and dangerous; he knew the mountain was a red alert spot in bad weather. The rocks prone to sliding, porous from the rain, eroded from the inside out by the lake. He stood on weak legs and followed the breeze further in. Further in the rose-pink of the stone was deeper, more obvious. The light from his phone that he now sparingly used, aware of the battery life he had forgotten to charge before school, reflected off the glass-like stone.

He entered a chamber, a big open area in the mountain that made him even less surprised at its weakness. It was cavernous, a pool at the bottom still and eerie and by the pool, there was a wooden box. Achilles stood confused. He walked to the box and sure enough, it was real. He wasn’t going crazy with the idea of death so quickly which was a relief. The wood was fine, it was smooth and varnished. It had a latch, it was open. He carefully opened the lid further, no longer afraid of falling rocks from this far in but wary of the box’s involvement inside the cave. Had they planned this entrapment? Had they come up previously and left the box for food, etcetera? That would mean more had to be involved, the Argonauts? But his dad was one?

In the box were odd things. A pillow, quilts, books. Food. Canned and a can opener. Batteries and torches. Matches and candles. Tons of candles. He knelt beside the box and on its side was painted a black horse with an elegant high mane. No text, no information. So, this cave was used for hiding people?

“Achilles?” He spun around and was blinded by the bright white light of a caving torch. “Achilles.”

The speaker threw themselves at him, he barely kept his balance, leaning on the box’s edge. It dug into his skin. He consciously caught the person, holding them. The smell of citrus and mulberry and figs on their skin – _Patroclus_.

“Patroclus.” He spoke into his soft curls. The Boy sobbed once, burying his face into his neck and breathing hard as if to check with every sense he was real. It took some time before they let space between themselves before either could bare to let go of what they only had in dreams.

Even then neither fully let go of the other, Patroclus lead Achilles to a corner of the rose-quartz cave and they sat, still holding each other’s hands. A tangled awkward mess of trying to sit at once. Achilles trying to get his leg that ached too much to cooperate. Patroclus trying to spread something out with his feet. Achilles felt his legs hit something soft and realised it was a makeshift bed, that was what Patroclus was awkwardly moving while not letting go. From the box? How long had he been here?

Philomela’s words of the forest and lake came back to him, the mountain was surrounded by both, central to them all. But why hadn’t she said the mountain?

Before he could talk Patroclus shocked him but unclipping his leg. The release of pressure was a relief when the other Boy didn’t say a thing but only took his hand again it was a breath of freedom.

“How did you get here?”

Achilles couldn’t talk, he could only listen to Patroclus’ voice, sweet and deep in his ears, vibrating off the walls. Then the Boy laughed, a trickle of spring water, high and clear like crystal glass. A little crazed perhaps from isolation, he had been missing now for about 6 months. Achilles laughed too. He moved forward and using his head on Patroclus’ chest, he lay them both down. Patroclus didn’t argue, he wrapped his arms around him and leant his chin on the top of his golden crown. Achilles—with his head on Patroclus’ chest—listened to his heartbeat. His very real, very strong heartbeat. He didn’t have the words or the strength to do anything.

He fell asleep. For the first time since this mess, he had the paradise-like dream of the fields and trees again but this time he was hyper-aware of the presence of Patroclus.

-

How long he slept he didn’t know but when he woke, Patroclus was still there. Patroclus was sat up though, with a pillow in his lap, that Achilles’ head was resting on. A few blankets were over him and his aching leg was raised. Patroclus was meticulously brushing his hair which made him want to cry. Carefully he sat up. Holding Patroclus’ hand close, in a tight but gentle grip.

Patroclus asked again, “How did you get here?”

Achilles looked around the cave but couldn’t remember which way he came. All the walls, he was shocked, looked the same. The reflective surface of the precious stone was creating a prism-like illusion. Reflecting off each other in a thousand paths. He looked to the box but from this angle, he could see at least two sides had the black horse on so he couldn’t even go off that. He shook his head, panic invading his face.

“It’s ok. I don’t remember either. I’ve tried several paths, but none lead out.” Patroclus laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world to be trapped here.

“It’s blocked.” Achilles’ voice was choked. His voice was weak, but he knew Patroclus had the same face he must have had when he first heard him. His eyes lit up bright, the candlelight bouncing in them. Achilles moved Patroclus’ hair from his forehead, it had grown out from being in the cave. “Who brings you food?”

“It’s blocked?” Patroclus asked, fear streaking his voice. “Thyestes. He comes every two weeks with that horsebox. I thought to map his entrances, but he always comes at different times and from different sides. A lot of the time I miss it because I’m asleep, I have no sense of time in here.”

“Thyestes? Yes, Paris caved the entrance that I came in through. Why Thyestes?” He didn’t understand why the Uncle to Menelaus would be keeping Patroclus alive, especially if he ever found out about Menoetius’ plan to have Patroclus wed Helen instead of Menelaus.

“My father knows Thyestes and Atreus’ secret about their half-brother Chrysippus. Menoetius isn’t stupid however to go to Atreus’, but Thyestes is foolish enough to not mention it to his brother for help. They try not to help each other after the last time.”

“The last time?”

“They killed their half-brother together.”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Helen of Troy.” Patroclus smiled, “I was one of the billed for her hand and to protect her—not that I had a choice. My father is using it to gain more power. You know?”

Achilles stroked his hands, watching his skin move under his like he would disappear at any moment. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to find you since seeing you in the woods.”

He laughed, it was sudden and shrill, it bounced off the walls of the cave. He was definitely a little off from being held here but Achilles couldn’t care less, at least they were both stuck here. The pool rippled. “Cassandra – oh Cassandra – she said the cave was a point of magic, that no one can see you in the cave and the pool was special, but I didn’t believe her.”

_Cassandra?_ Achilles looked to the pool and back at Patroclus, Patroclus continued, “When you step into the pool and think of where you want to be it will take you she said. She also said _‘beware of your father, Patroclus_’, I just thought she was talking about the abuse. I don’t know how it works, but it’s not physical, it feels like it—like the other night with the Minotaur,” he rubbed at his chest, Achilles unconsciously put his hand on Patroclus’ collar bone where the Minotaur’s horns had shredded him. Patroclus blushed, “But I always wake knee-deep in the pool.”

“But—I didn’t see you like this?” Achilles stared at the still water, “I saw you as we are in the dream, and as a gloomy teen in a black hoodie and an adolescent version of the dream you. Also – I had a dream about older us.”

“I don’t claim to know how it works but I was going crazy in here alone and I remembered her telling me to talk to the pools in the rose-quartz cave because my _Philtatos_ will see me. You did.”

“But no one else has seen you?”

“I was only thinking of you.”

Achilles put his prosthetic on and walked to the pool. He waded in, “Do you think it works for everyone?”

Patroclus stood on the outskirts of the pool, forlorn to be without contact again. He shrugged, looking into its champagne pink shallowness. Achilles thought quickly, his father, whether he was innocent or not, was an Argonaut. His mother had already shown her distaste for Patroclus, who now sat patiently waiting for Achilles to hold him again. Philomela was not mentally well; Menoetius was a no go. Nereus, Achilles barely knew and didn’t know whether to trust. He had no friends from school. Patroclus had Briseis but so far, she was not tangled in this web of fate, they had to keep her safe.

His options were Officer Aeneas or Chiron. Chiron was a man of science but was aware of all the supernatural stuff going on through Philomela and himself. He thought of Chiron, he thought hard of the office, the chair, the smell of disinfectant. His long beard, his harsh truthful words, his effort in getting Patroclus back for Philomela, his trust in Philomela’s words. Chiron’s own words of Patroclus.

And there he was.

Sat at his desk, scratching away at some paperwork, his laptop open on another sheet that looked written in Greek, Achilles was shocked he could read it! His glasses low on his nose, the time matching Achilles phone. The date was right too. It had to be real.

He laughed; Patroclus smiled at him unsure what he was seeing. Chiron looked up and straight at him. He slowly leant back in his chair and even slower, removed his glasses. His face was stoic but his eyes were wide.

Achilles looked to his hands; he was a little shorter than his current height. He was dressed in white and red, draped over his shoulder, pulled in at the waist. His wrists were cuffed with thick gold, his hair—he could feel—was pulled back but still brushed his shoulders, so longer than he was used to wearing it. He had sandals on, crisscrossing over his shins. He laughed again and Chiron twitched one eyebrow.

“Care to explain?” His voice was low as if he were afraid of scaring the apparition away.

Achilles explained as fast as he could, his hands a flying mess as he rambled on. What he didn’t realise was Patroclus was also hearing everything except the responses from Chiron and he was seeing everything too. Achilles stood in the pool in the cave, draped luxuriously in white and red silks, held with gold ribbon. His hair was long and clasped with an arrow-shaped pin, some sea salt dried curls breaking free. His feet, sandaled in a brackish leather. A Greek God in a champagne pink pool, in a rose-quartz cave. Patroclus couldn’t take his eyes off him as he watched and listened to Achilles reporting everything. As Achilles explained the sheer ineffable feeling of finding his _Philtatos_.

“—I don’t even know what that word means!” Achilles laughed again, “I can read that Greek too!”.

“It means ‘nearest and dearest to heart’ it’s also Greek.”

Patroclus couldn’t hear Chiron, but Achilles turned to him like he could, blushing embarrassed for calling Patroclus such a thing after only meeting him. But Patroclus was looking at him without blinking in such a raptured way he blushed harder and had to turn away from him. Patroclus, he recalled, had said the word too, _but did he know what it meant? _Achilles blushed harder.

He continued his rant but before he finished Chiron had grabbed his coat.

“Enough,” Chiron turned to him, “I’ll find you both.”


	11. Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Patroclus sat on Chiron’s couch, a needle in his arm. A bandage on an old infected scrape, a towel wrapped around his damp hair. Dressed in one of Chiron’s shirts and sweatpants. Achilles sat on the floor beside him, keeping out of Chiron’s way as he checked the Boy over until he was satisfied.

“At least they kept you healthy.” He grumbled again, muttering randomly and at long intervals. He fussed over Patroclus as Peleus fussed over Achilles. Patroclus asked a bit about his mother to which Achilles was surprised Chiron answered at length and in detail.

Achilles looked at him unabashedly. Watching his brown curls fall in his face as he removed the towel, and as he moved at Chiron’s instructions, his skin, fresh and clean from the shower slightly flushed. His eyes every now and again meeting his before he’d blush and turn away—a deep, warm brown. Everything was exactly like in the dream and not so because he was _real_, sat before him, breathing, moving. He couldn’t stop staring which seemed to unnerve Chiron. Chiron instructed Achilles to start making some dinner, mumbling about looking _like a stalker_ so he headed into the nurse’s haphazard kitchen.

The old man had everything, every herb and spice, every sauce and grain imaginable. It was chaotic and far too much for a single person. He carefully picked a couple of herbs and spices to make a _luxury_ panini, the one thing he knew he couldn’t mess up. He turned to Chiron’s kitchen table. It was littered in work, texts from every language, diagrams from many strange things. He half attempted to move, half attempted to simply cover with placemats and towels. He was disappointed to realise, the text he had recognised as Greek he could no longer read.

Pat came into the kitchen lost in Chiron’s clothes, sniffing appreciatively at the cooked food, “It’s been cold cans of everything for ages!”

They sat and ate together, Chiron extracting a few sheets from under the mats to read while Patroclus told them about the labyrinth of the mountain. By the end of dinner Achilles had made eight more paninis to the six he already made – two each. Patroclus ate seven in total but Chiron didn’t seem to care as long as he was eating. Once they finished, they remained at the table, Chiron discarding the plates in the already overflowing sink. He carefully sat back down like the weight of Troy was getting to him. He looked older somehow, or perhaps that was because he was tired. He took a deep breath before announcing their next step.

“You have to stay hidden for now. When was the last time Thyestes came to you?”

Patroclus looked strained, his eyes deep with thought, the crease deepening between his brows. He shook his head, Achilles spoke up, “The box was half full.”

“It’s usually empty by the time he comes back!”

They both looked at Patroclus smiling at them. Chiron began his mumbling again while Achilles stood to make another panini. “So, you starved for a few days?”

“Only a few.”

Chiron rubbed his beard and massaged his scalp. “You have to stay hidden either way. I have no reason to believe Hector or the other two will tell anyone about Achilles being trapped in the cave. So, no one should suspect a thing if you aren’t there when Thyestes comes back.”

Achilles dropped the panini in front of Patroclus who without reserve tucked in. He sat beside him, his hand on his leg—protective.

“With Patroclus and everything we’ve learnt, with Peleus and Thetis in town too –”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Achilles stopped him; Patroclus lent his head on his shoulder. It grounded his rage a little. “You knew about my dad and likely about my mother.”

“Yes, Achilles I did. It’s not my place to tell you about your family issues. Peleus, I can assure you has nothing to do with what has happened to Patroclus. Peleus has never – until this point – lived in Troy. As for your mother, I never much liked her.”

They stared at each other; Achilles wanted to ask him more because it seemed Chiron had eyes everywhere. He wanted to ask if he knew why his mother was brought across the sea and why she never returned to her homeland. But Patroclus whispered his name and squeezed his hand once, he slightly shook his head.

Chiron continued, “There is no reason we can’t go to Officer Aeneas. To Priam and Hecuba too since they seem to have been the reason Peleus came here.”

“He came here to stop my mother using me.”

“He came here too because of Priam,” Chiron sighed. “Achilles, you’re angry. Everyone in this town seems to be against the one you love and using him. Everyone in this town is seemingly out for themselves. Conniving, manipulative. But – I, am not. I tell you what I feel I have a right to tell you, I tell you what I feel you should know. Peleus and Thetis have their secrets they’ve kept to protect you and I am not about to break them for a boy I met a little over a month ago.”

“How can I trust anyone, there is no one here that seems to not be scheming something. Even my own father is an Argonaut, even he planned things to stop my mother, while she planned things to control my life as a bargaining chip.”

“Achilles—we’ll leave Troy. We’ll find a place for us and this will be over. It’s Troy, Achilles, not Chiron.”

Achilles and Chiron stared each other down before Achilles dropped his gaze. He looked around the small kitchen that looked nothing like someone who would live in Troy. “Why are you in Troy, Chiron?”

“Chariclo,” Chiron said in barely a whisper. He didn’t elaborate, he didn’t appear to want to say anymore. He simply drifted off into a deep reserve, his face sombre. Chiron sat appraising the many vials and trinkets that littered his kitchen. A thought occurred to Achilles that either the man was a hoarder, or he had a partner – Chariclo. “She was my wife. Troy – killed her.”

Chiron said no more. He didn’t have to or need to. He was only in this town to stop whatever it did to his wife from happening again and right now it was happening to Patroclus and his mother.

“You—sleep on the couch Achilles. You sleep in the spare bedroom.” He stood with a heaving sigh, “I ain't stupid and I’m an extremely light sleeper, remember that boys.”

-

Patroclus lay on the sofa with his head on the armrest, his feet on Achilles. Achilles was watching him desperately trying to fight sleep. They hadn’t really spoken; they weren’t sure what to speak about – their conversation always going back to Troy.

“Did you have the dream about older us?” Achilles asked, “We were in a canvas tent and there was armour in the corner?”

“I’ve had a dream of me dying and you killing everyone.”

He was stunned, what was he to say to _that_. “I never thought I would meet you, I barely thought you were real.”

“I met a woman once—her name was Circe, she was just a traveller coming through town but, she also had a key to the abandoned cottage, which made no sense... She told me that the mountain was like a cauldron. Everything was in it at some point, boiling away and bubbling. That it was a source of natural magic. The cave is special, it reflects not just light but a memory.” Patroclus smiled, “Perhaps that’s where our dreams are coming from?”

“I was raised in Phthia.”

“I wasn’t raised in Troy either, but we’re both here. The Fates know what they are doing.”

-

Chiron drew up a plan. He bustled around the kitchen, getting ready for his working day. He fought Patroclus off when he asked to go see his mother, raising his voice a little to tell him again to stay away from the windows and doors.

The plan was easy. Achilles and Chiron were going to arrange a meeting with Officer Aeneas at Peleus’ house, where they would hand over their information. Whether Priam was going to be involved now, was a struggle because of what Hector had done. Achilles was going to go to school today as if nothing had happened. He wouldn’t even talk to anyone about his weekend. The one thing Chiron was sure about was that Hector and his brother _didn’t_ know that the cave held Patroclus.

Achilles quickly showered, he debated whether or not to go home and change but then he’d have to lie to his parents until the evening. But Chiron came downstairs with some clothes. He handed over a plain t-shirt that was near his size, after finding out about his wife, he didn’t want to know if he had any children.

Patroclus stood back from the door as Chiron smoked on the porch. Achilles held his hand, “I’m sorry this is weird between us. I –”

“I’ve been trapped in a cave for six months. You’ve been told dark secrets by your parents. This town is a deceptive mess. We’ve been dreaming of each other since—at least I was six.” Patroclus pulled Achilles into a hug. “It’s weird because for the first time we are in the same room, breathing the same air and the situation isn’t good. But it will be.”

“Plus – I’m a paranoid mess at the moment.”

Patroclus quickly and timidly gave him a kiss on the cheek, running off up the stairs declaring he was going to waste the hot water. Chiron sniggered from the porch at Achilles’ stunned face.

-

By the time lunch break came around, Achilles knew people were staring at him. It couldn’t be because Hector, Andromache or Paris were stupid enough to tell people—well, perhaps Paris. They had, however, obviously tried to cover something, spread something and hopefully, Briseis would tell him. He took the seat opposite her. She looked up once, her eyes shadowed in a heavy black, her hair braided and obscuring her face. She continued reading her book, playing with the school cheap mash potato.

Achilles began to eat – “He’s alive.”

Briseis didn’t react. He didn’t think she would, she was a theatre student after all, and she didn’t show her emotions well anyway. She took a mouth full of potato, glaring at him.

“I need to know what _they_ have spread about me.” He tilted his head towards Priam’s kids' table. “And – what you know about Helen and Menelaus.”

“Your mother is in town. Did you know that Thetis had been very quietly but very efficiently chipping away at the Argonauts shipping reputation, all while funding her life with one of their warehouses?”

“The warehouse yes, her attacking them no.”

Briseis smiled, “Your mum is a lawyer before she’s your momager, right? Well—she’s managing to pick off every single filthy ship they have. In such a way though that they can’t really complain because it’s random and sporadic across the country.”

“How do you know that?”

“I work in Apollo library, it’s the archive of the town and the law halls.”

“About Helen?”

“She’s tits up for Paris but only to get away from Menelaus.”

Achilles pulled closer to her across the table, displacing his tray. “How do you know that?”

Briseis lent closer to him, closing the gap significantly, he knew people were staring now. “Because Agamemnon thinks he’s the next Atreus and talks big. He knows about Paris and Helen but he’s not telling anyone because he thinks he can handle it.” She scoffs and can’t stop herself from throwing an evil eye his way. Agamemnon doesn’t see it, he sits loudly laughing with his brother and the Ajax twins.

“You hate him?”

“He’s a vile man.” Briseis stands, “Talk to you later at track. Your boyfriend’s coming.”

Achilles nearly jumped out of his seat in panic but all he saw was Hector walking towards the table with Paris. Hector sat, he leant back in the chair staring at Achilles like an answer to his escape would arise from him. Resting his arms on the table he leans forward and hisses, “How?”

“How what?”

Paris slaps the table and laughs. Andromache takes a seat beside Hector and harshly tells Paris to _grow up and shut up._

“Achilles,” her voice was all business, “Your scheming mother is in town.”

“Yes, she wants to monopolise the shipping industry. Why send a wooden horse when you can send yourself? I think she’s here to talk to Priam. Wonder what she will use as leverage? Perhaps her treasured swift-footed son being attacked.”

Achilles went to stand but a hand came down on his shoulder – Menelaus. His hand thick and heavy on his shoulder reminded him of Thyestes, he takes the seat beside him and gives him a sinister smile.

“Achilles, Hector tells me your mother’s in town,” Agamemnon spoke from behind him, his voice drawling and slow. “Tell me why the bitch who’s taking shots at the Argonauts is in _my_ town?”

“Ask your daddies and what do you care for the Argonauts?”

“They bring a lot of business through Troy, a lot of money.”

Achilles turned to get a look at Agamemnon, Clytemnestra on his arm. He had to partly know about the Argonauts plan through her, through Helen, but that still didn’t help him or Atreus but perhaps it gave them leverage to take Troy from Priam. An incompetent leader in the family’s eyes once the deceit was revealed that took place right under his nose.

“Or you mean—”

“Achilles,” Odysseus pushed his way past Menelaus. Penelope stood to the side, a little on edge. “I just wanted to confirm with you that you, myself, Pen and _Patroclus_ are going out on a double date tonight? Still all good? I heard _Patroclus_ is still a little shaken since _Thyestes_ kidnapped him?”

The table was still. Achilles looked at Odysseus searching for answers. “My dad – an Argonaut – has suggested as well that perhaps Peleus and Thetis since they’re back on good terms should come over to discuss the future of the Argonauts. Considering your father was a legendary sailor, your mother has a cast-iron grip on the east through Nereus. I have hold of Laertes’ fleet and all. You are the heir to a hefty sum. _Patroclus_ too – an Argonaut.” He smiled at Agamemnon, “What are the odds! A gay power couple in the Argonauts, a nautical reach with your grandfather Nereus and myself—all friends. Just like Tyndareus and Menoetius.”

He patted Agamemnon’s shoulder, stretching a hand to Achilles to get him up. He followed Odysseus and Penelope out of the hall feeling Agamemnon’s eyes follow him.


	12. Odysseus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Briseis was sat on the bench outside of the Apollo Library. She looked through them, clearly searching for a friendly face and when she didn’t find one, she then looked to Achilles. “Where is he?”

“I’m not bringing him out here.” Achilles turned on Odysseus, pinning him to one of the columns, “How do you know about Patroclus? What do you know about the Argonauts and Tyndareus? Helen and Paris? Tell me _everything_ Odysseus or so help me I will have blood.”

“Your rage needs to have a check Achilles.” He waved toward the door, “shall we do this in a soundproof room in the back courthouse or declare the plan to everyone?” He looked to the few loitering law students and passing cars.

The library was quiet. The smell of musty books was thick in the air, dust sparkled in the light from the windows. It was a peaceful place Achilles thought, but he had no time to appreciate it. Odysseus led the way to the back of the library and one of the three courtrooms used by the law students. They walked in and Briseis screeched. She ran across the room in a flurry, her braids whipping whoever she attacked in the process. The attacked squeaked too and they bounced together in a huddle, then swayed in a tight hug.

Achilles could smell him, rich figs and mulberry, _Patroclus_. Pat held Briseis tight for a while but kept his eyes on the corner as if alert to an animal. Achilles turned and his mother was there, sat in a high back chair glaring at the Boy. Her glare was particularly icy and he knew she hadn’t blinked in a while, it was one of her many commanding talents. She had used that stare on him when he failed to run faster at competitions despite being in the lead.

“Mother?” Thetis gave only one fleeting look of acknowledgement before turning her icy gaze back on the Boy. He wanted to step in front of her and stop her scaring him away, stop her wounding him. But he couldn’t face his mother so he smiled to Patroclus, leaving him in the arms of his friend who was doing her best to viciously glare back.

They were all there—Achilles’ parents, Philomela and Chiron, Officer Aeneas and Priam. In the far corner looking over a file was Laertes—the loose end, the weak link. Odysseus stood beside his father and looked down at whatever he was reviewing, Penelope locked the door.

“What’s going on?”

Odysseus stood up, something seemed to change in him, he wasn’t a seventeen-year-old boy but a man. A businessman with a keen eye. He held the attention of everyone in the room with only his posture, the same way Achilles watched him hold the student’s attention with words at the bonfire.

“While you’ve been investigating Patroclus, I’ve been busy too. Menoetius and Tyndareus are having my father on for his share of the Argonauts—not that I need to tell you that. I won’t review it again, we’ve all been over it all morning, ripping it to shreds, but I need you on my team Achilles. You aren’t a part of this plot with Helen, but your boyfriend is, so you have interest in this fight.”

Patroclus untangled himself from Briseis and stood by Chiron, furthest away from Thetis. As the word boyfriend was said, Thetis audibly hissed. Philomela held his hand sat in a chair staring off into space. She seemed more distant than usual, if they had been discussing Menoetius’ scheme all morning it was no wonder, she was far away in her head. Her husband was one of the real monsters in this town.

“This town is a web of lies, you know that, you’ve been picking at it. But the fathers don’t seem to think our generation has any brains. As of last week, when I realised your search for Patroclus was getting serious and I noticed Paris giving you more attention, I issued a letter of intent to my father about his ailing health and inability to logically sign deals for the Argonauts—to hand it over to myself. He is no longer an Argonaut. I am.”

Laertes said nothing, the man seemed defeated. He finished signing the papers before him and sat back to watch Odysseus show him how right his decision was. Odysseus walked around the table, perching on the edge of the desk like a lawyer in a movie, Achilles thought it dramatic, but he couldn’t find his voice to tell him. He could only step back from that imposing pose and stern look, when he began to speak again, Achilles didn’t dare look away. “Your father—in about ten minutes, is going to hand his share of the Argonauts to you—”

“No—he will not.” Thetis barely moved a muscle in her face as she spoke through her teeth, not taking her eyes from Patroclus. Achilles couldn’t stand it anymore and stood in front of her, blocking her view of him. Patroclus dropped his gaze to the floor, Briseis gave Achilles a small approving smile.

“Yes, Thetis he will. Because that means that myself and Achilles have the ability to open an investigation into Menoetius, our evidence – Patroclus. Unless of course, Menoetius wishes – suddenly – to sign over his Argonauts share to Patroclus.” Odysseus ticked off his fingers, “Myself, you and Patroclus. A new generation of Argonauts—oh and Mytro and Hercules, who has informed me, he will willingly be at the investigation to finally be rid of the blackmail he has faced. Four Argonauts against one. Plus—Priam who would like his town back.”

“But—Helen and Paris?”

The door opened; Andromache walked in, Achilles stood towards Patroclus more, his blood boiling. When she saw him she stopped short, dropping her guilty gaze. “Helen is going to be back in town soon. I gave Paris the money.” She looked to Thetis at the last part who simply sneered at her, Andromache was clearly afraid of her, and by the look on his mother’s face, she was already exacting her own revenge for what they had done to her son. “Achilles, I had no idea the threat would get that far—the cave, I’m sorry. I wanted Hector away from Paris’ crazed behaviour, I wanted him to see how far Paris would go for that stupid woman. I need Helen to return so they can leave and when you started—”

“Save it—I don’t care.”

Odysseus continue as if she never entered. “Paris will unwittingly sort out the rest because he’s a fool, Menelaus will explode because of his ego. He’ll hurt Paris—start a semi-civil war of sorts between the two main families which will spark a feud against Atreus with Priam. This will hopefully rebalance Troy, knock some egos and right some people.”

Priam sat on the couch beside Peleus, his head resting in his palm. He seemed tired, spent, he didn’t seem to care for Paris being hurt by Menelaus. He looked like he only wanted Troy back. Achilles stood there in the centre of the room looking around at everyone as if expecting them to add to the mess that was Troy. No one spoke, there was nothing more to say. They had out planned the original planners; they had no more moves to make except to execute it all.

Officer Aeneas stood. “I’m gonna check we are all on the same page because I want this executed quickly with as little damage as possible. Two new Argonauts who initiate an investigation into an elder Argonaut. Clear that quickly—make it impossible for him to even consider trying to win, make him feel his only option is to hand over his control to Patroclus. That cripples one half of Tyndareus’ plan, the next, Priam you let Paris loose with Helen and the money Andromache has magically gifted him. I will protect Paris, but he will get involved, hopefully he'll be smart enough to save some money to take Helen away from Troy. Which, will completely crippling Tyndareus. The only issue left is Atreus.” Aeneas sighed, “Even if Menelaus has his ego hurt that’s not enough to take Atreus’ power from Troy—”

“Chrysippus,” Patroclus stood forward, Achilles recognised the name. “Atreus and Thyestes killed their half-brother, my father knows where the body is. Having me as an Argonaut doesn’t really mean anything, I’m his only heir anyway so at some point it will be mine. The high families of Troy will be wary of me and Achilles being together and having that much wealth—of course, it’s inevitable but so suddenly? That could cause other families to not be happy which will effect Priam.” Priam looked up at the missing Boy as if seeing him for the first time. “Instead of losing his share in the Argonauts, which is too obvious, he won’t easily or quickly fall for that. We tell him he has one option – keep his status but tell Atreus to back down or Chrysippus makes an appearance in the woods.”

“Clever,” Thetis mocked.

“It will also cause distrust in Atreus’ family because he believes only himself and his brother know, if the brothers are fighting, they won’t have time to plan a counter on Priam or Tyndareus for Helen. Atreus is too afraid to lose his face in Troy.”

Achilles continued, “It also means we have a hold over Menoetius because at any time myself and Odysseus could launch an investigation into how he knew and then—his involvement in the disappearance of his own son.” As he spoke, he only looked at Patroclus, impressed and proud of him. “It protects you from him too.”

Laertes pushed the papers across to Peleus, without reading them, his father signed his name and handed the pen over to Achilles. He hesitated, lowering his voice, “You only have one warehouse, how will you live?”

“I’m sure my son will look after me.” He gave him a small smile and a fleeting look to his ex-wife, “I’m sure I have no reason to fear going back into the water now either. I’ve missed sailing.”

Achilles signed the papers.


	13. Reuniting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Achilles stood by his door, slowly, carefully inching it closed. He’d stop every time it made a barely audible squeak to listen for his mother, who he prayed was still sat in the living room or his father who hadn’t come home yet. He left the door a little open, open enough to peek an eye through but really – it was shut. He could imagine his mother, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, waiting for the click of the door. The vision scared him. He stood looking at it, wondering if he could get away with shutting it all together. He was technically a businessman now, a seventeen-year-old Argonaut. What was wrong with shutting his bedroom door with the guy that he was attracted to in the room with him? With his parents downstairs—

“Achilles—can I borrow some clothes?”

He turned to see Patroclus, his legs hidden somewhere in the bathroom, his bare chest poorly covered by his hand. Pat had the decency to blush and look away, but Achilles didn’t have the willpower to stop himself staring. By memory, he hopped to his chest of drawers not taking his eyes off the other boy. He pulled out a shirt and some sweat shorts. Internally he had a debate as to whether he should hop over and hand it to him to be a little closer. But the realness of it not being a dream made him haphazardly throw the clothes at him instead. Patroclus laughed as they hit his face, swiftly he turned back into the bathroom, breaking his bewitching spell.

Achilles made a quick change before he came back out, he undressed the bed and sat on his preferred side and waited. His stomach felt empty, he felt sick. His forehead was hot, and his hands were tingling but once Patroclus finally made an appearance again it all went away.

“So—”

“You never spoke to me in my dreams.” Achilles blurted, he had been thinking of it all day, what to say to break the ice, what to say to make it start feeling more real. “I don’t know what I said to you, but I know nothing about you. What’s your favourite trashy tv show?” Achilles felt his cheeks redden at the pointless blabber, he hoped Patroclus didn’t think he was stupid.

Patroclus looked at him blankly for a while like he was speaking Greek again. Then he drop-rolled over the bed, laying across the end of it with his pillow smooched to his face. He rolled on to his back, looking at the ceiling. “I love GLOW but it’s not _that_ trashy. But it’s a show about a trashy wrestling show.” He smiled, “We should watch it. You?”

“I’m more a film person—I love trashy horror films. Like 80’s horror.”

“GLOW is set in the ’80s.” Pat sat up, scrunching the pillow to his chest. “You read. What was your last best book?”

“Not easy, not easy at all! Probably Deep Magic –”

-

“Ok—Ok—Ok but did you watch that program, Black Sails about the pirates? Wasn’t Flint the most complex character on TV that year?”

“I didn’t but we can watch that too!”

There was a knock at the door, but no one came in. Achilles thought it was odd, usually, his father would come in straight after knocking. There was a knock again and this time Peleus announced it was him.

“Sorry I didn’t want to interrupt.” He stood in the doorway but didn’t come in any further which only further confused Achilles. His father looked awkward in the doorway, shuffling on his feet.

Patroclus went to move out of Achilles’ arms, but Achilles only held on tighter. “You haven’t, we were just talking about Black Sails.”

“Oh—fantastic story if you like history and politics—obviously pirates. It’s complex and consistently engaging. I have the boxset.” Peleus reeled off seemingly interested in the wallpaper above their heads, “Dinner is ready.”

The table was rigidly set the way he remembered his mother did it. There was also a clear distance between the Peleus’ family and the other end of the table. Achilles dragged one chair to the singled out one and pulled it out for Patroclus. His mother dropped the plates on the table like led bullets and with a silver ladle, dropped the stew on to each plate ceremoniously with a slap. She too, dragged her chair out, scraping across the floor but instead of taking her fork, she sat back and gazed at Patroclus. Practising her unblinking cat-like stare again.

Achilles ignored her, “You like track?”

“A little—but I’m—”

“Unsteady when running fast.” Achilles laughed, slurping his stew. “I know, what do you like playing?”

“Dice games,” Patroclus carefully ate a bit, a small tactful amount so if Thetis began talking there would be no delay in his own response. “I like D&D and—my father taught me a lot of gambling games, I do like Blackjacks.”

“I’m sure, like father like son.” Thetis’ voice was cold and pointedly directed, her stew chilling in front of her, sending mist before her face.

Peleus loudly slurped his own stew, making a show of it, dabbing at his chin with the napkin. “Your suit for prom arrived this morning Achilles. I suggest you try it on and go to prom after the events of today. Patroclus do you need a suit?”

Patroclus’ fork slipped, splashing food on to the tablecloth. “I haven’t been—”

“Would you come with me?”

“Of course, he will not!” Thetis slapped the table, “One—no son of _mine_. Two—Menelaus wouldn’t be too pleased seeing his son, out of that cave.” Achilles knew she wanted to add more, likely how he should be put back in the cave.

“Actually, as Officer Aeneas said, it’ll get it all moving. We could get a suit tomorrow?”

“You will listen to your _mother_, boy.”

“He will do as he pleases in this house, Thetis.”

Peleus and Thetis had a staring contest. Then Thetis opened the flood gates and started to rip into Peleus. Her voice was as scathing as Achilles remembered it. He turned to the clock and then whispered to Patroclus to follow him. Achilles was far too used to this type of moment in his house and he didn’t want Patroclus to see it. On his way to the door, he grabbed his fathers credit card and a spare jacket of his. He shut the front door a little louder than needed and skipped down the porch, Patroclus stood by the doorframe.

“Let’s go get you a suit now instead?”

Patroclus stared at the line of the setting sun on the porch, he looked to Achilles patiently waiting. “Maybe your mother’s right, I shouldn’t go out yet.” He stared at the golden line on the white porch like it would burn him if he crossed it. Achilles held his hand out but said no more.

-

The store was empty, there was only an hour left until closing and it was midweek. The tailor didn’t look too thrilled to see them enter but when Achilles came out from behind Patroclus, the tailor’s face lit up. Achilles bit his lip, he felt like Patroclus was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman but he couldn’t imagine Patroclus chewing and spitting out the prejudice of the tailor. Patroclus stood on the small dais in a dark grey, almost black suit. Pins in the cuffs and legs, three ties draped over his shoulder. A deep purple, a dark red and a black. “What are you wearing?”

The tailor left the room for another swatch.

“I’m not wearing a tie; he’s just trying to get more money in on a slow day.” Achilles stood and took the ties away, “I’ve got a three-piece but, that’s because I hate jackets, it’ll be over the chair most of the night.”

“Can I not wear a more—casual suit?”

Achilles ran his hand over the lapels of Patroclus’ jacket, “More linen blazer and skinny trousers?”

Patroclus shrugged, he had never had a proper suit or gone to prom. He and Briseis said they would never go but would instead have a night at the drive-through cinema, prom coincided with their Monster Movie weekend. Pat had said he would only go if Achilles made an appearance. Well – he had.

“Tailor? We want to try a linen suit, no tie and slim fit trousers. Make it lighter as well but with a darker shirt.”

“Aren’t we spending too much?”

Achilles smiled at him, “Not enough really.” Achilles wanted to buy him the whole shop, he looked devilishly good in a suit and Patroclus seemingly didn’t realise it, which only made it sweeter.

-

Achilles didn’t want to take Patroclus home; he didn’t want to go to Chiron’s either and he definitely didn’t want to share with Briseis despite them getting along better. Thankfully, Patroclus hadn’t mentioned going to see her yet, if he had, he wouldn’t refuse him. Achilles had begun to realise that although they had only been together in dreams, they were already extremely close in reality. He knew Patroclus was getting tired because he kept tilting his head, he knew Patroclus also didn’t want to sleep because he kept fidgeting his feet. The only obstacle they had to get over together was the awkwardness that was physically being near each other for the first time. Neither knew quite what to do. If it was the dream, they would be holding hands already, they would be in comfortable silence or rabbiting (one-sidedly from Achilles) about anything. They would be running or swimming or sunbathing. They would be touching each other – small touches. Like the back of the hand, a finger on the crease of the elbow, a gentle tap to the back. It would be so natural, but that was the dream.

He couldn’t put his finger on it but something was blocking them from getting on with it. He had had the random 21 question session with Patroclus, they cuddled on his bed, they had had dinner together. They had gone shopping together. But something was still making it awkward. “Let’s go to the lake.”

Ever since moving here, Achilles had loved the lake, running the track and sitting in the shade of the great trees. Perhaps they simply needed some tranquil alone time. The lake was crystal clear and still; they found a log to sit on and watched as the sun started to slip away over the mountain.

“This is weird,” Patroclus said in a low voice.

Achilles went cold, his hands felt numb. He felt it but he didn’t want Patroclus to _say_ it. What if the dream was meant to remain only a dream? He looked to his shoes and couldn’t find the strength to see what Patroclus’ face looked like, whether it was shuttered or open, disgusted at the reality or jesting to break the wall that was between them.

“You always spoke in my dreams,” Patroclus continued. “There’s something embarrassing about it being real. I told you everything, all the good and the bad—like a human diary and now you’re here. Now other people can see you, my diary—”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I never spoke to you in your dreams, you said?” Patroclus chuckled, “Do you think our dreams are the past? That we’ve been resurrected or something—or perhaps, it’s just we share a similar path with some people from Ancient Greece? Either way—” he looked away, rolling his hands together in his lap. “I know we’re meant to be together; I think it’s embarrassing because we’ve already been together since I can remember. You’ve always been the one I turn to, thought of first etcetera. Despite the craziness of that. I think, Achilles, it’s awkward because—we actually have to come to terms with how _other_ _people_ will react to us now. It’s not us that’s awkward, its all of them.” He waved his hand back towards the town. “They aren’t going to understand why, how, when we became us. We’re reflecting their awkwardness onto ourselves, because—society has its prejudices.”

Achilles looked to the last golden glow over the mountain, “And what are we going to do about that?”

“I never kissed you in my dreams and now all I can think about is kissing you because it will be real.”

Achilles blushed, Patroclus watched his cheeks heat and the heat hit his ears. Achilles turned to see Patroclus looking at him with a red tint to his face too. “Can I?”

The smile that spread across Patroclus’ face was breath-taking, wholesome and welcome, his smile became softer as he nodded his head a little too fast, “_Yes_.”

Achilles had kissed no one in his life. He had never wanted to. He knew what to do, but not how to make it good. He had trained in track for years but had never thought to train for the moment he would kiss the boy he loved. His hand shook as he placed it onto Patroclus’ warm neck, stroking his thumb over his ear and in his soft hair. He could feel his erratic pulse which only made him more nervous—_this was real._ He didn’t pull Patroclus closer, he was worried about not being gentle enough but thankfully as he began leaning in, Patroclus came closer himself.

The warmth between their breaths held the scent of figs and mulberry, the smell of the woods cooling for the coming dusk. Their noses touched, Achilles could almost feel Patroclus’ plush lips a feather apart, his breathing sweeping over his mouth sending goosebumps up his neck, prickling his hair.

-

The tent was gently waving in the cooling breeze from the ocean. They had opted to keep the entrance open by a rock and lift the back of the tent slightly so a small funnel was created. They had—to block out the beach—draped a white piece of linen over the entrance that dreamily swam in and out of the tent, catching the sun with its silver threads.

Achilles lay on his back, his hair unbound, his head on a bundle of furs. His skin was hot, sticky. His chest rose slowly, leisurely, at peace. His golden hands spread either side of his waist on top of the bronze thighs that straddled him. He shifted his weight a little to wake Patroclus, who had been staring at his armour in a trance, for far too long now. The golden armour flashing every now and again as the tent let the rays in. The breeze caught Patroclus’ chlamys and Achilles took the opportunity to tug it loose off his shoulder. He knew Patroclus had tied it flimsily on purpose anyway, he wanted to play, Achilles wanted his attention back on him, not his cold armour. It slipped off his shoulder revealing his chest and finally broke his trance.

Patroclus’ hands stroked Achilles’ stomach, tracing one of the fading scars he had from tumbling to sharply at the last battle.

“You really won’t fight again?” Deep down, Patroclus was selfishly hoping that that meant returning home. But he knew Achilles was vital in this endless war and vital in getting Briseis back. Patroclus couldn’t help but hope though, that Achilles would return home, and they could go back to the cave.

“I have no desire to fight a war I don’t care for, for a man who has no respect.”

“Will you get Briseis back?” Patroclus was hopeful, he had formed quite a strong bond with the woman but he was aware that Achilles was jealous. That Achilles kept an eye on her and him, watching where she put her hands and where he put his. He thought it sweet that Achilles even thought to worry.

“For you.”

“But you really, really won’t fight?”

“No.”

Patroclus smiled, an end was in sight, there would be no point staying now. He leant over, pressing his hands into Achilles’ warm chest, feeling his heart beating fast under his fingers. He touched their noses together and breathed in a whisper across his skin.

“Si filo, philtatos.”

-

Their lips met and sparked once again.


	14. Prom Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Patroclus stared at his reflection in the mirror. The suit was gorgeous, it was tailored perfectly to his slim waist and broadening shoulders. Forgoing the tie was a great idea because he felt like he was suffocating with it on. Panic was gripping him by the collar, plus, Achilles kept staring at his open-top buttons which made him giddy. He was going into full panic mode at the thought of going into school after being declared _missing_. He was scared to see everyone from his class who likely wouldn’t remember him anyway. The thought depressed him. He was afraid to see his teachers and he was fearful that his father would be there.

There was a tap on the bathroom door, Achilles opened it slowly as if expecting him to tell him to leave.

“We don’t have to go?” Patroclus knew he meant it. If he said he wanted to go make out by the lake in their nice new suits, he would agree to it.

“No, we need to.” Patroclus was determined, he looked at himself one last time in the mirror almost to reassure himself that he was alive, real; that he was fully in his right to celebrate the end of his academic life with his _boyfriend_. Which, by the look on Achilles’ face, he was. They were going to fight the world together.

Officer Aeneas took them. On the way, he told them to not worry about Menoetius and to try to have a good time. “Try and be teenagers for the night, the next couple of weeks are going to be rough.” He gave the speech like a distant older brother, looking through his mirror to them in the back. Patroclus smiled at him, “Just—remember to be safe.”

“Any news about Helen?” Achilles snapped.

Aeneas seemed reluctant to respond; he looked at them in the mirror again as if realising, being _teenagers_ for the night was no longer an option at this point. “She boarded a flight this morning. I’ll drop you off here, it won’t be very _cool_ turning up in a cop car. Text me when you’re back home so I can sleep for the night.”

They walked the rest of the way in peaceful silence, neither trying to bring up Helen, both trying to be _normal_ teenage boys. The school was lit in different shades of red to follow the Autumn theme that Deidamia had been planning since before Patroclus disappeared. Patroclus was happy to see it, it made him feel a little normal again and not so out of the loop. He quickly told Achilles the story of how he found out because he accidentally went into the Arts classroom when Deidamia was making out with a boy a year below them, who was a theatre prop student. Achilles smiled so brightly that Patroclus quickly thought of any other bits of school life to tell him about. Most, however, involved him not being very popular and ignored.

They stilled at the bottom of the stairs and Achilles took his hand, “Please don’t walk off.”

“I won’t.”

-

Deidamia had turned the hall into an autumn woodland. How – no one knew – she had managed to get a copper and brass chandelier into the hall and from it, draped like a Big Top were ribbons of red, gold, yellow, burnt orange and pastel greens. All tied to the gold wire trees that lined the walls and spilt over the floor like fallen piles of leaves. Each table had a piece of twig art that resembled the woodland animals around the area. They were on the Mountain Cat table. Or Patroclus noticed, Achilles was, no one was expecting him to be here.

“Is that _Theatre_ student here then?” Achilles chuckled, Patroclus shook his head, trying not to catch anyone's eyes.

As they approached the table, Patroclus felt the first set of eyes glare at him like he was a foreign invader, whoever they were, they followed his walk across the hall. Then another, another and another until it turned into mummers and hushed voices. Achilles’ hand was a steady force that propelled him through the slowly filling room, he pulled the chair out that was closest to the wall and beside one of the wire trees. Patroclus sat immediately on unsteady legs, his body felt hollow, he stared at the twig figured Mountain Cat like it would come alive and attack him. Achilles sat beside him so he was shielded by him and the tree, so no one would be able to get to him without going through Achilles first.

“May we?” Odysseus used his hand that was holding Penelope’s to indicate the seats the opposite side of the tree. He pulled out a seat for her then sat beside Patroclus.

“I thought you were on the Horse table?”

“Well, Agamemnon is on _this_ table. So, we swapped because he doesn’t like you,” he pointed, blinked several times—rapidly—at Achilles like he was innocent in his role, “And I haven’t collected enough bets yet on who would win between the two of you.” Odysseus smiled.

Briseis sat opposite Patroclus, “Brie?”

“Dumb-Dumb, can’t leave you with the vultures.”

“Nice dress,” Penelope sneered.

Briseis tilted her head at the most scathingly sarcastic angle, about to reply with presumed venom but Patroclus jumped in. “That jumpsuit looks amazing, plum really suits you, Brie. Is that your Grandmothers’ necklace?”

Briseis touched the opal stone held delicately by multiple knotted chains. “Yes.”

“It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” She blushed.

Achilles was giving him the side-eye; all he could do was laugh at his jealousy. Then he couldn’t stop, his delicate laugh bouncing off the walls like bells with sharp hysteria. The talk about him was ceasing if only because they all thought he was as crazy as his mother; he was choking on his own laughter as he pinched Achilles’ shoulder with tears in his eyes. “Stop it – you’re beautiful too.”

“What a surprise, Patroclus.”

“Pat-ro-clus,” Achilles slowly breathed. Not taking his eyes off the table to acknowledge Menelaus.

“Yeah, Patroclus like I –”

“Pat-ro-clus.” Achilles repeated, strained between his teeth. Menelaus glared at Achilles who antagonistically glared back; Achilles' and Patroclus’ hands still held on top of the table. Menelaus looked at them both, then sneered before walking away.

“Well – now we’ll never be blessed with knowing what he was going to say about Pat.” Odysseus followed the wrestlers walk to the Horse table. “Is Pat alright Achilles? Or are we going to have a pronunciation lesson too?”

“Who else is on this table?” A boy in black shorts and a plain t-shirt dragged the chair back roughly before dropping into it. He looked at everyone, one by one, resting on Patroclus a bit longer before simply raising an eyebrow. He leant back in the chair and swung on its back legs.

“And, _you_ are?” Briseis snapped, snagging her purse towards herself.

“Mynes,” He looked her up and down, then slowly looked her up and down again before saying. “Love the jumpsuit; boots are killer too.”

She didn’t respond but turned her back on him choosing to watch the stage. Patroclus whispered to Achilles that Briseis was certain her neck was her best feature and was moving her hair forward on purpose. Sure enough, Mynes was staring at her neck. Patroclus chuckled as Achilles stroked a finger over his own neck and the hollow of his throat.

-

The murmuring went on all night, but no one approached. No one asked if he was alright, _where had he been?_ No one seemed to care. It angered Achilles, it made him feel a deep-rooted hatred for Troy all over, burning his skin with rage. Around 10, Briseis asked Mynes to dance with her which he gracefully accepted which annoyingly opened Achilles’ side of the _Patroclus Defence Table_. Deidamia sat down like lightning. Achilles was about to change his opinion of her again, thinking she was trying to protect Patroclus too, when she blurted out, rather loudly so several tables turned to watch. “Please don’t be gay!”

Odysseus laughed and slapped the table, the little Mountain Cat jumped; Patroclus flinched back from it. “That ships sailed and likely sealed tonight.”

Patroclus gaped at Odysseus then spluttered towards Achilles for back up of his honour, but Achilles was staring intently at the exit, his ears tinged pink. Before he could argue, Penelope shushed Odysseus looking embarrassed for them.

“I’d rather seal it now.” Achilles turned quickly to Patroclus his face in shock, Patroclus looked like he couldn’t believe what Achilles had said, “No—No—I mean. I’d rather with you now, not right now but later! – It’s boring. I’d rather –”

“Be boning in his Maserati. Me too Achilles, me too.”

“Come dance with me, Odysseus, before you have to leave with Achilles for a three-way.” Penelope loped off before Odysseus could agree or argue.

“Interesting kink Penelope, interesting.” He gave Achilles a flirtatious wink and waved goodbye to Patroclus.

“I mean – Patroclus I would but – wait no, I mean I’d rather be at home with you, to maybe—”

“How cute.” Deidamia hopped in. She was red-faced but not from second-hand embarrassment but anger. She began ranting at Achilles about the weeks she had been so kind to him and how she expressed her feelings for him in subtle ways so as not to push him away. She wailed about how cruel he was, but he didn’t take his eyes off Patroclus once.

Patroclus stood, slowly and unsure, “Dance with me?”

Achilles took his hand wordlessly and let Patroclus lead him to the dancefloor under the chandelier. The light was so soft it made everything give off a golden afternoon glow. Patroclus wrapped his arms around Achilles and lay his head on his shoulder, settling in and looking ready to sleep. Achilles held his waist as they simply swayed to the music. Everyone looked or tried not to but failed, but all Achilles could feel was Patroclus’ hair tickling his neck and his breath steadily sweeping over his chest.

It was only one song, but it felt like ten. When it ended all Achilles wanted to do was kiss Patroclus again, so he tilted his head and kissed his forehead instead. Patroclus pulled back, slowly like he was waking from a dream and smiled at him. “Can I?”

“Yes.”

Achilles no longer feared not being good at kissing. He knew the kiss could be a complete mess and Patroclus wouldn’t care. He leant in and gave him a short but sweet kiss, someone wolf-whistled. Achilles turned and saw Odysseus making heart signs at them before pretending to cry, Penelope looked bored of his antics. Patroclus stunned Achilles by giving Odysseus the finger.

-

He’d swear the prom was getting worse, nothing had happened yet to worry about but it was the most life draining event he had been a part of since his parents’ divorce. No one had been shocked by Patroclus’ return, though Achilles knew through Odysseus and Penelope, that that was the main talk of the evening. Patroclus had brushed off Achilles’ anger by saying he was never popular, so Achilles took him on a short walk around the hall to prove him wrong. Sure enough, every table was talking about him, but none knew what to say. He thought that suspicious. A normal reaction would be to swarm the missing Boy, bombard him with concern and questions, gossip and joy. _What held them back?_

Briseis came over and whispered that she was leaving with Mynes because prom was overdone by now, that they should all go to the Café. Achilles had no idea what café because there were several, or where the café was, but Patroclus’ face lit up, so he agreed.

It turned out the café was a small narrow shop, rammed with plants, books, wicker and iron tables with plush and mix-matched seats. If Patroclus and Achilles held hands and stretched they could touch the opposite walls. The music that was playing was whimsical folk, quiet enough that you weren’t sure whether you were hearing it or not. The room smelt of different teas and coffees and freshly watered foliage. Briseis and Patroclus led their dates right to the back where a spiral staircase went through the roof. They ambled up the stairs one by one, coming out onto the decked-out rooftop, covered in white fairy lights and, not surprisingly, more plants. There were only two tables up top. Briseis grabbed one and dragged it to the other, while Mynes pulled the chairs around. A couple of minutes later, a woman appeared. In a flowing white dress with her hair half-up, half-down tumbling to midway down her exposed back. Her skin was like milk, her eyes a dark blue almost grey. She was stunning.

“Patroclus?” She stopped short of whatever welcoming she was going to offer, her eyes flashed, “Patroclus!” She jumped him in a fierce hug before another musical voice was echoing his name and ran up behind her to join in. Patroclus was encased in chiffon skirts and wavy long blonde and brunette hair.

“Athena and Aphrodite,” Briseis added for Achilles’ benefit, her eyes looked wary of them as if she wanted to say more but couldn’t.

Achilles hadn’t met them around Troy, if he had, he would have remembered. Both were insanely beautiful, one blond, one brunette, one blue-eyed, one green. But when the first woman stepped back, he could have sworn her eyes were a sinister dark grey. She looked furious. “What happened to you? What did that bastard do?!”

This was more the response he had hoped for at the prom, it made him curious as to who these women were to Patroclus and why Briseis didn’t like them. They flittered around him like birds, checking him from every angle and then some. The grey-eyed, blue-eyed one stopped and stared at him.

“Achilles?” “Achilles?” The other echoed and Patroclus turned to him and simply nodded.

They both descended on him and the grey-eyed one slapped his shoulder, “You should have got here sooner, silly boy!” “Keeping a Boy waiting like you’re Zeus himself!” Snapped the other. It seemed impossible for them to not both talk at once, but the result was musical. They kept bickering about being late and eyeing him up like he was a toy until Patroclus stepped between them, seemingly breaking their spell.

“Aphrodite go make them the usual and get a pot of tea brewing,” Athena, he supposed, turned to look over the roof. “I’m calling Ares.”

They all sat down once the women left and Achilles expectantly waited for Patroclus to tell him who they were but Briseis took Athena's and Aphrodite’s interrogation as her opportunity to ask Patroclus about the cave too. When the tea and their regular drinks arrived, he was describing the box. By the time they finished their drinks he was telling Briseis how Achilles entered the cave. She turned on him then and asked why he was in the cave. He had gotten used to Briseis enough by now to know she was fiercely protective of Patroclus and quite possibly in love with him. He knew she was waiting for him to say something that would put the blame on him for all of this, despite not being in town when it started. Anything to turn Patroclus’ attention back on their friend-zoned, friendship.

Quickly he ran through Hector's and Paris’ plan, carefully he neglected to mention the pool but Aphrodite with her sweet face nodded and whispered, “The pool of the cave, its name long forgotten.” Before sipping her tea like she hadn’t spoken, waiting for him to continue like he was the one who said it. Her eyes unblinking, her body still. “Sorry, telepath.” She chuckled, “Please continue.”

He couldn’t, he stared at her and then her sister, her delicate face patient. Then she laughed, “It’s prom night, let's not talk of scheming families.”

Achilles sat back as the sisters went to put music on, he could feel a cold sweat breaking out over him and the pressures of the last couple of months. His foot started tapping which he couldn’t stop, he didn’t realise he was holding Patroclus’ hand a little too tight until Pat’s other hand stroked the top of his. Patroclus indicted to get up so he followed him down into the café. But he had to sit down, his hands dragging through his hair, he was shaking all over. Patroclus had his hands on his knees, kneeling before him, he was speaking but Achilles couldn’t hear him. He tried again to focus on his lips, to read them but his head was filled with a static noise. His vision was blacking out.

A cold hand touched his cheek, he looked up and saw Aphrodite looking down at him with a glass of water in her hand.

“—for years, and now I see a Minotaur and the cave. I keep seeing a battlefield and everyone is lying to me including my father. Patroclus is real, you can read minds—”

“Sweetheart,” Aphrodite stroked his face, “I can’t, the cave used to be safe to go into and it was a site for many pagan believers, Halloween used to be held there. There was a cave-in 15 years back, it’s not been safe since.”

“You’re both kids,” Athena came in, “This whole Argonauts business is too much for children to be dealing with, you should be laughing at jokes not having panic attacks over them or having delusions –”

Achilles glared at her, “It wasn’t a delusion.”

“Seeing a half-bull, half-man?” Her tone was condescending but something told Achilles she was playing him again, she was _lying_ to him about _lying_ to him. He understood Briseis’ wary look. These sisters weren’t normal.

The more Achilles thought of it the more he realised no one was going to believe him, the more he thought of the pool, he realised no one would believe it was anything other than water. He was tired, angry at the people of Troy, he wanted a normal week not trying to control the adult world of black market business. Not dealing with men and women that took pleasure from twisting things and watching the effects, acting like Gods and Goddesses.

“Let’s go to Chiron’s tonight,” Patroclus was already stood by the door waiting to leave. Achilles didn’t argue, he didn’t say goodbye to the others but left, wishing he had his old simple life back with the exception that he got to keep Patroclus by his side this time.


	15. Circe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

Chiron sat in his living room pondering over the files of the Argonauts and Patroclus’ conversation with him last night. From the start he didn’t want to involve the kids, he didn’t want to involve Patroclus most of all but when his lover boy turned up he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

There was no real explanation to what was going on between Achilles and Patroclus, no one else seemed to be affected by Troy the way they were. All he could do was believe them and maybe try and help them. Right now, helping them meant getting them answers to the mystery that was what they were both seeing in Troy and dreaming about for the last decade. Answers that Chiron was sceptical about and unable to answer in a serious way. So, he found out where the local witch lived and arranged to meet her.

-

Circe’s house was as Chiron would expect a witch's house to be. Small and abandoned-looking; covered in creeping vines with a great old tree in the garden that looked like it had been struck by lightning. He marvelled that she had left the door open but presumed the children of this side of Troy stayed away from the scary pagan’s house.

Inside, the house was best described as organised clutter. Every surface was covered with new and old things, all in different stages of collecting dust. It looked as if once they were placed down, they weren’t touch again. It was hectic but tidy, in the sense that there was a clear walkway around the house. He made his way to the kitchen which was the cleanest part. A pot of something was brewing on the stove and the old teapot was whistling away to itself. In the corner sat a woman, who had to be Circe. With a goblet of wine in hand and a strand of her long grey streaked hair twisted between her fingers. Curled in her lap was a long-haired golden cat, its yellow eyes watching Chirons approach.

“Centaur, how can I help you?”

It had been years since anyone used his nickname and he couldn’t place where this woman would have heard it. She sat back stroking the cat, with a smile upon her face, waiting for him to bite.

“I’m going to be honest, Circe, I don’t believe in anything that you preach about. I’m a nurse, I believe in science, yet I have two boys in my house at the moment that have witnessed things that don’t make sense. One of them is finding it easier than the other, likely because he was raised here.”

“Patroclus,” Circe dropped the cat to floor, the cat hissed in annoyance and walked off. “Achilles is a golden child, given everything he ever wanted. Patroclus is the opposite. Achilles has countless friends, Patroclus doesn’t. Patroclus has spent time engrossed in books, fairy tales and fables, et cetera, so of course, he’d find it easy to accept such things. Whereas Achilles lives in the very real world. Well – recently he delved into books, retreated to Other Worlds, so his journey to understanding Patroclus could begin.”

“I didn’t mention their names.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s written in the Iliad.”

Chiron scoffed, slapping his hand on the table. He scoffed again when Circe only looked at him with a serene face. Rubbing a hand over his forehead, he asked her what he wanted, “I need you to help Achilles and Patroclus understand this otherworldly stuff because I don’t or won’t take it seriously.”

Circe laughed, standing up she was taller than he expected, a willowing tower of power. She flicked the pot off and poured it into a porcelain tray, shutting the lid on it. “You believe them, but you can’t grasp it.”

“That’s not a question.”

“It’s not,” she dropped the tray into a bag. “There are things in this world that can’t be explained. We each choose what we believe in. Everyone is different, everyone’s tolerance is different. I’ll tell you what, I’ll do you one better and when the time comes, even you will believe.”

-

Achilles woke to the smell of bacon and burnt toast. He ambled down the stairs using the wall for support. Last night was rough, he didn’t quite understand what had happened except he was tired and needed a break. That Patroclus slept beside him last night and stroked his hair, whispering every so often that everything was going to work out. At first, on the walk to Chiron’s, he felt angry at Aphrodite for joking (or was Athena lying?) but by the time he got to Chiron’s, rattling on to Patroclus the whole way about what is sensible and what is not, about parents and Troy and how angry he was. He realised, she had likely noticed he needed to burst before going on.

This morning he definitely felt lighter. Like his mind could finally accept that all these things had been happening and it was still _very_ real. Patroclus was blowing on some burnt toast while Chiron sat reading a book – The Iliad. Thetis had read it to Achilles often.

A woman sat on the opposite stool, she looked at him and smiled. He gave her a small smile back but was wary of her pale eyes. She unrolled a map on the table and tapped the seat beside her, he took it as Patroclus turned with a plate of bacon without toast, a defeated look in his eyes.

“This mountain is very old,” Her long fingers circled the danger zone, “There’s a cave in it, the Rose-Quartz cave that holds a pool of water said to be the tears of Mnemosyne, meaning memory. That water runs down the mountain and follows several drains all over Troy. Because of that, there are pockets around the area that show people things. For example, a Minotaur in the woods.”

Achilles looked at her stunned. She waved a finger for silence and carried on, “Not everyone sees it because not everyone is susceptible to the waters. But, Achilles son of Peleus and Thetis, it is very real, very, very real.”

He took a piece of bacon and began to chew on it so he didn’t have to speak to her, deep down he was thankful that someone knew what the pool was and knew that that was why he saw those things. But he had a question he was too afraid to ask –

“Patroclus was a therapon to the great Aristos Achaion, Achilles. They fought together in the war of Troy to return Helen to Menelaus because Patroclus’ father had offered his son in her protection when they were young. Patroclus died on the battlefield because he took Achilles’ armour and fought with Hector, who believed the wearer of the armour to be the best of the Greeks. Achilles, enraged, sacked Troy and was wounded by Paris, who ran off with Helen. Nothing is known of Achilles’ grave, but one thing is, his mother Thetis, would not let Patroclus rest alongside him.”

She sat back and closed her eyes, “_Sing, O Muse, of the rage of Achilles, of Peleus' son, murderous, man-killer, fated to die, sing of the rage that cost the Achaeans so many good men and sent so many vital, hearty souls down to the dreary House of Death.”_

Patroclus turned from the sink, “That’s not true! After some time, Thetis allowed Patroclus to tell her of her son and their life together. She then allowed him to rest alongside her son and even engraved on the grave his name beside his.”

She smiled at him, opening her eyes, staring at Chiron, “Were you there?”

He quickly swallowed the bacon he had shut his mouth on, eyeing her with trepidation, “Well, no.”

“Are you sure?”

Circe tapped the map again, “Sometimes the Gods get bored. Sometimes they feel a little bit of guilt. Rarely,” She looked out the window to the sun. “Apollo guided that arrow that killed Achilles, Apollo also had a hand in Patroclus’ fall. I believe – yes a couple of centuries too late – he is giving you both a second chance but of course, he’s a God, it can’t be easy.” She placed a photo on the table of three striking people, Achilles recognised Athena and Aphrodite, he supposed the man was Ares. “But, of course since Apollo is near, so are others. Watching and playing with whatever they see fit.”

They all waited for more, Chiron dropped the book and scoffed at her again which only made Circe smirk.

“Achilles meet Circe, the local _witch_.”

Achilles didn’t know what to say, he looked at the map some more and thought about what she said, he didn’t really believe it but it was nice to have some theory regardless. He looked to Chiron as if he would counter-argue but the old nurse only shrugged and went back to reading the book. Patroclus continued eating his breakfast like this was a normal conversation, then he said – “Officer Aeneas wants to meet today.”

Achilles laughed, his laugh rebounded off the walls and it made Circe laugh too. “Ok.”

-

Officer Aeneas had something to report, Helen was back. She had landed at some point through the night and was back with her father now. They discussed when was best to make their move but Aeneas insisted that they let Paris start it all first. So, the next day they went to school.

School started as normal, they had to take Patroclus to the office and Achilles felt that stab of rage again as the receptionist took one look at him and simply gave him his old schedule back without a word. Classes were slow, Deidamia didn’t sit with him in any of them but after prom, he wasn’t surprised.

Circe had given him some books to look over and he had to admit the more he did, the more comfortable he felt with the ideas she brought up. It settled him, Patroclus had no issue accepting it but he mockingly said it was like being in a Tolkien book with layers of meaning and more to discover with every read-through. Achilles was anxious to get everything over and done with, but Helen hadn’t been back to school yet, to Paris’ dismay.

Paris sat and whined in the cafeteria every day, he sulked like a child while Menelaus laughed heartily about dinner last night at Tyndareus’ and Helen’s bedroom.

Her arrival in Troy had one good effect, it made people leave him and Patroclus alone. For the first time, they had some normal times together. They ate lunch out on the field with Briseis and Mynes, they went for a drink at Are’s café. Patroclus even went to volunteer at the hospital though his intention of sneaking out back to see his mother was thwarted by Chiron who kept him on file shredding duty.

Achilles picked him up that evening and they walked through the woods. A part of Achilles wanted to see those visions again to prove he wasn’t crazy but that fear swiftly left him when Patroclus started to say things that he shouldn’t have known.

“I remember coming to you by the lake, the Minotaur had run you into it.” And, “I was stood by the trees, you were staring at an illusion of me at the last woodland party before I disappeared and Deidamia was latched to your arm!” Patroclus latched onto it now, a little possessively.

They walked to the lake and sat on the sand, Patroclus pushed up mounds of it with his toes, then wrapped his legs around Achilles’ before pushing them both back to lie down. They lay there for god knows how long, when Achilles jumped up hearing a bloodcurdling cry. He got between Patroclus and the sound, but Patroclus closed his hand over Achilles’ mouth and pointed out over the lake.

Upon the lake was a man. He was tall, muscular but nimble, his feet were lightning fast, his hands swift. His golden hair was poorly held back by a string. He was fighting something, his rage was darkening the lake, tears streamed down his face, yet he did not falter once. Another cry rang out and whatever it was he was fighting must have diminished because he sunk to his knees.

A vision upon the water, he screamed into the night, a roar that shook the treetops and the sleeping birds all startled, flying off in all directions. His fist smashed down onto the surface of the lake and raindrops poured down over him, he wept. As he wept, he grabbed his sword and dragged himself up as if he wanted nothing more but to be dead himself. He stumbled off into the woods and the vision vanished.

Achilles didn’t move, he could feel Patroclus moving around him and using his cool fingers to brush under his eyes. He was crying. As he turned to Patroclus a horrific hollowness took over him, an emptiness so absolute that he felt lifeless and confused at who or what he was, he took Patroclus’ face in his hands and he cried some more before he carefully kissed his cheeks.

He lay his head on the Boy’s chest, feeling his heart beating by his ear and he knew that Circe was right, that man—so filled with desperate grief—was him. That man was himself without Patroclus.

-

Helen arrived the next day, Achilles remembered two things that evening, one he wasn’t impressed. Two, at some point in the commotion he had let slip Patroclus’ hand.

Helen walked into the cafeteria, tall and golden, if Achilles had to place her, she’d be the head cheerleader so he feared her. Her walk was regal, her eyes were cold and the necklace around her neck could have likely bought Troy. Menelaus walked in beside her with a smug look upon his face, one hand possessively on her tiny waist.

Everyone stopped talking and eating, everyone looked to her. It took all of Achilles’ will-power not to jump onto the table and point at everyone and scream, “Patroclus is here!” Where was this reaction when he returned from the _dead_, she was only returning from a private boarding school.

The unlucky couple made their way across the cafeteria, but they didn’t get far. A plate was smashed, and a yelp was heard as Hector pushed Paris to the floor but Paris was willy. He was up fast; Hector’s hand was over his face and it came away bloody. Paris was in front of and touching Helen in a heartbeat. Menelaus’ hand came down on Paris’ wrist and everyone heard the snap.

Hector and his boys forgot any form of control, they charged on Menelaus but Agamemnon’s men met them halfway. The clash was that of wrestling and football flesh and testosterone gone far too high. The meaty sound of crunching bodies set the room into a frenzy. Achilles swiftly jumped up and pulled Patroclus and Briseis to the wall. That was when he dropped his hand.

Achilles stood a little in front watching the commotion and saw the moment Agamemnon grabbed Helen and Paris picked up a knife. Like a flash, Achilles was across the room, sharply chopping at Paris’ wrist to drop the blade. He did the same to Agamemnon and took Helen by the waist steering her to the opposite wall.

Agamemnon lunged for Paris, grabbed him and dragged him towards his brother, who was stomping on a kid on the floor. At the sight of Paris, he stopped and the look that took over his face was a twisted mix of sadism and pleasure. Helen screamed, slapping Achilles’ shoulder to do something.

He pulled the fire alarm that stunned them enough for Achilles to weave through and grab Paris. But Menelaus wasn’t having it, he grabbed Paris’ broken wrist and this time a quick hit to his wrist wasn’t going to work. Menelaus kicked out at Achilles’ prosthetic and he heard the pin pop and a crack.

He heard Patroclus scream his name. Achilles turned, jabbed his elbow into Menelaus’ stomach while pushing Paris the other way. Paris screamed at the pain but Menelaus finally let go as Hector took his brother by the waist and dragged him off.

The fire department arrived and the teachers only now stepped in. Achilles glared at each and every one of them but none seemed fazed by what they let unfold, he was dripping wet from the sprinklers and his thigh ached from the sudden hit to his prosthetic.

Helen came over to him, tapped his shoulder and whispered “thanks” before following Paris and Hector out. Agamemnon grabbed his brother. Achilles couldn’t believe the audacity of the woman after what had happened. The police arrived shortly after but of course no one was arrested.

The farce was over, the pissing display of the two families of Troy had begun and Achilles wished he was anywhere else but here. Especially when Briseis came running over and slapped him with all her wrath against his face.

“Patroclus is gone!”


	16. Misery of Deidamia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone, thank you so much for continuing to read, comment or give kudos on my fics! I hope you all have a great 2020 and achieve everything you set a goal for. - Ashleigh

Peleus sat in the living room, he had served tea to Priam and Hecuba. The news of the fight at the school had spread quickly. Achilles had rushed home, changed his prosthetic while going through what happened with his parents far to fast for them to understand. He limped to the door and said he wouldn’t be back until he found Patroclus, nothing Peleus or his mother could say had managed to stop him. Thetis was aggravated. She wailed how she didn’t understand why he cared so much for a boy and how he was going to end whatever semblance of a career he had going since his accident.

Peleus ignored her and called Priam over first thing. Priam came in as pale as a ghost and filled in what they didn’t quite catch from Achilles. Paris was at home with Helen. The only thing stopping Atreus from retrieving her was Priam’s security. “Who has Patroclus then?”

“I assume Menoetius.”

Peleus didn’t agree, Menoetius wouldn’t care enough about Patroclus, he’d be worrying about Helen instead. Menoetius surely wasn’t aware that the Argonauts had two new members yet either. Perhaps someone on Atreus’ side got wind that they knew about Chrysippus but that didn’t mean they had to take Patroclus.

“What does this do to the plan?” Priam was on the edge of his seat, his back looked wary, his shoulders slumped. “Odysseus has drafted the investigation letter, I read it this morning and I believe it’s all in order, Laertes has signed it, you must and Achilles. We’re ready to make our move!”

Thetis’ shrill laugh filled the room, Peleus wouldn’t be cruel in saying her presence seemed to dim the lights. “How are we to make a move without Patroclus?” She sneered his name, “Menoetius has no one to fear without Patroclus telling him to challenge Atreus and Thyestes over Chrysippus, Patroclus has to deliver it or he isn’t safe and by forfeit, my son won’t be either.”

Hecuba spoke, “Thetis is right. We can’t move until Patroclus is found again. But are we sure it’s not Menoetius? Is no one questioning that he hasn’t approached his son yet?”

Peleus looked to the family photo on the mantle, he had held together a poor excuse of a relationship for his son, he had spent dirty money for his son, he had given up his income for his son. What father wouldn’t? Priam sat now, shaking with worry for his son who has fallen for the wrong girl. Thetis was even supporting Patroclus—if only for her son.

“We have to call the Argonauts.”

-

The driveway was steep, the gravel painstakingly bludgeoned into the soil. He walked up the drive with his leg clicking, he stopped short enough to punch the pin into place. His rage was making him see red, for once he was afraid of himself. His hands wouldn’t uncurl from fists, his shoulders wouldn’t relax. When he stopped, his body gravitated to a fighting stance. Every inch of him was looking to fight, every inch of him was the vision on the lake. Dragging himself up the drive to Menoetius’ house.

He didn’t knock, he stormed in. By will, or conscious sane thought, he didn’t shout; he stalked the rooms of the mansion as if on the hunt. As he did, he wondered how the man couldn’t afford his wife and son’s presence. The luxury of the house was vast enough, and yet he couldn’t share his life with his own blood. Achilles walked along the walls, noting not a single photo of family. Golden eggs and bowls adorned everywhere, material wealth was present in every corner, but he couldn’t find him. His fingers tingled with pins and needles from holding them so tightly, his stomach felt hollow.

He opened the door to what he thought to be the living room but it was the study. And there, in a highback seat, sat Menoetius. The man looked up slowly from his work, he eyed Achilles across the room and Achilles noted, he looked nothing like Patroclus. Whatever was in Patroclus, it wasn’t this heartless, cold man.

Menoetius straightened, taking his glasses off before taking in a deep breath, “You’re the one ruining my plans and running around the woods with my child.”

“Where is he?”

“You tell me.”

“Where is he?!” Achilles lunged across the room, he slammed Menoetius back into the chair. The other man didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He slowly placed his hand over Achilles’, the Argonauts ring flashed in the light, Achilles dropped his hand quickly and stepped back. Afraid of what had possessed him. “Patroclus is missing, someone has taken him. If you don’t tell me whatever you know, I will strip you of all your Argonauts privilege and whatever protection you have from Atreus.”

Menoetius chuckled, “How would a boy do that?” He raised a thick eyebrow, goading him.

“I’ll give you to my mother, Thetis, and I’ll dig up the woods until I find Chrysippus’ body and place it on Atreus’ doorstep.”

Menoetius’ face flashed quickly with some emotion, a twist in Achilles' stomach made him fear he had said too much. But he didn’t care for the town of Troy, they could continue on this plot by rich men. All he wanted was Patroclus and the chance to leave this place with him. To forget all the filth from this town, to let them destroy themselves.

“It would seem my boy had good ears then.” Menoetius sighed, “But he’s an annoyingly _good_ boy, he wouldn’t do such a thing to his father, even if I beat him black and blue.”

“I would.” Achilles stepped forward, “I’d eat the world raw.”

Menoetius’ face froze, Achilles could see himself in his eyes, wrath embodied, Menoetius was afraid of him. He quickly shut that fear away but Achilles had seen it. So, when he repeated that he had no idea where his _“bastard of a son”_ was, Achilles believed him.

“How?” Achilles pleaded, “How can a father be so cruel?”

Menoetius smirked, “Simple. When they get a child they don’t love. Patroclus has never been the son I wanted, his only good decision was bagging the swift-foot godlike Achilles. At least he’ll be an average trophy for you.”

How Achilles didn’t bite, he’ll never know, he stood back though as if to breathe. “What about Laertes? You’re screwing over your friend.”

“Friends? In this game of wars Achilles, _‘friends’_ is a pretty word.”

-

The moment he walked through the door his mother descended on him, her wiry arms around his body, her dark eyes madly searching him over. She was demanding he tell her where he went but he pushed her aside in search of his father. Peleus sat in his office with the other Argonauts, they all turned to him, Odysseus whistled through his teeth and sat back. They all moved out of his way as he stood in front of Peleus’ desk, his father shrunk back too.

“I told Menoetius about Chry –”

“You silly—”

Achilles turned on Laertes, “What are you doing here? You’re no longer an Argonaut and aren’t welcome in such a meeting. Odysseus sort your father out.” Achilles turned back to his father who vacated the desk seat, “We need to move to investigate now. Is the letter drafted? Good. Call Officer Aeneas, Patroclus is missing and we need to find Chrysippus’ body first or we lose Menoetius.”

“Actually Achilles,” Odysseus returned, “I thought you’d do this when I noticed you run out of the cafeteria. Penelope is on it, her and Ctimene have found him, they’ve moved the body to the morgue. Also, noticeably someone else was missing from the cafeteria – Deidamia.”

-

Thanks to Deidamia’s insistence on Achilles walking her home, he knew where she lived and didn’t need Odysseus to come with him. Odysseus pleaded to come if only to keep the peace, but Achilles snapped that they needed to move forward with Officer Aeneas. One of them had to go to him. He did knock this time, and he waited, fidgeting. He took some deep breathes to try and slow his heartbeat, to control himself but that inexplicable rage lingered under the surface. He needed Patroclus back before he became that vision on the lake.

Deidamia opened the door with a sweet smile on her face. She was wearing nothing but a robe and lingerie. A sheer red gown over black and purple lace. Her breasts up high and cupped by crisscrossing straps, some were studded, sparkling in the porch light. The material was laced loosely enough to see her pink nipples beneath, Achilles didn’t blink. Her knickers barely existed, if it wasn’t for the harness she wore around her waist, that held a small strip of lace that was meant to resemble a skirt, he’d see everything.

She leant on the doorframe, faking shock that he was on her doorstep, her tiny feet dancing on the marble floor. He pushed past her, snatching her sleeve on the way, he slammed the door shut. He pulled her robe around her and knotted the drawstring. “Where is he?”

Deidamia’s manic cheer slipped a bit but she pulled it back before anger truly took her face, “Who?”

Achilles felt his fist clench and took several steps away from her, breathing in the chill of her cold, still house. “Where is Patroclus?” He tried not to raise his voice, but it still echoed off the barren walls.

When she chose not to respond, but slip a shoulder out of her nightgown, he turned uninterested to scour her house. No one was home, where were her parents? He pushed open every door, ignoring her voice that only got shriller and shriller with each room he searched. She was completely alone. Her house was barely furnished, cold and sterile. Finally, he stopped in the garden, the pool lights making the terrace, seem icy.

“What’s wrong with me?” Deidamia shouted again, “I can offer you so much more than him!”

“No!” Achilles took a big step towards her, she stepped back, clutching at the edge of the terrace. “No. You can’t offer me anything that he won’t tenfold over. I _am_ sorry, I'm sorry, Deidamia, that I can’t find the love for you but you need to let it go.”

“Try it first.”

“What?”

Deidamia straightened up, that passionate determination of hers taking over again, then leant against the barrier with a teasing tilt to her hips. “Before you pick him, try with me first. If you don’t like it, I’ll tell you where he is.”

“So, you do have him?”

Deidamia smirked and beckoned for him to come forward. 

-

Deidamia’s lips were cold on his neck, she murmured and mumbled incoherently into his shoulder as she pulled at the collar of his shirt. His hands gripped the terrace watching the pool below. He felt her move closer, pressing her cold body to his when the water rippled.

He watched as a brunette crown of curls surfaced in the pool, the Boy swam to the edge, agilely pulling himself out then stretching a hand back into the water to help pull a blond-haired boy out. The blonde-haired boy looked up at the terrace and waved, the Boy joined in, then dove straight back into the pool, that now seemed tinged pink. The golden boy shouted something then jumped in after him. The vision vanished. Achilles pushed away from the withering Deidamia. He took his hoodie off and gave it to her. “The cave.”

She burst into tears, clutching at his arm with desperation. “Why?”

Achilles turned to her. For the first time, he saw her, a lonely girl with absent parents, the only single on the cheer team when relationships _seemed_ to be the only thing that mattered. He pulled the hoodie on her and zipped it up. “Because I love him, Deidamia. He is all I’ve ever dreamed about.” She turned from him, “Deidamia, you’re more than your parents. Your worth isn’t your relationship status. _We’re 17!_ We’re young and learning and growing and constantly changing. Who we are now, won’t be who we are in a year, let alone five. Deidamia, a boy won’t solve your problems, what will solve them is you facing them and finding the strength to fight them.”

“Easy for you to say, with _Patroclus_.”

"Deidamia, having Patroclus doesn't change anything. Being in relationship isn't the only importance in my life neither is it the solution."

"At least you have someone who wants you! At least you have someone, I'm alone. It's so easy for you, for everyone, look at Andromache and Hector, Paris and Helen!" Tears swelled in her eyes.

“No. How is it easy? I have no clue how to be with Patroclus, I have no clue what a relationship should be, apart from it shouldn’t be like my parent's. I'll wager Helen isn't happy either, having everyone demanding something from her. I'd guess Hector and Andromache aren't happy all the time either." Achilles took her shaking hands. "This isn’t some dream I’ve had about a boy for years, this is very real and it’s scary because I’m worried I’ll mess up, but you know what? I bet he is too. Because we’re _teenagers_, who have to find our place in the world. I’d like to find it with him—but, there are parts of myself that I have to find out about without him too. Like this rage I feel. I nearly hit his father tonight, that’s not the man I want to grow to be. Deidamia, you’re not this woman that needs a relationship, your smart, cunning—you’re insanely creative, look at the Halloween party and prom. You’re like my mother and she’s the strongest woman I know.”

Deidamia walked him back into the house, she looked around the living room and curled up on the couch. “Can you come back at some point? As a friend.”

“Yes.”


	17. Apollo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.

At night the northern woods were treacherous. He knew halfway up that he should have told someone where he was going but once he got Deidamia to bed, he only had one thought on his mind - Patroclus. The night was cold but dry. He slipped several times because he didn’t dare waste his battery life on using the light. Which meant it took longer because he tried to stay to the less dense areas of the woods to follow the moonlight. Once he got to the entrance, he was pleased to see that Deidamia obviously didn’t have the strength to block it up but that made him worry, why had Patroclus not tried to come out?

He made his way in, in the pitch-black he dug his phone out when he could no longer walk without it and followed the winding route back into the belly of the mountain. At last, he came out into the cavern and looked straight to the edge of the pool, Patroclus lay on the floor painfully still. He ran to him as quickly as he could, splashing through the pool, crashing to his knees beside him. Patroclus was frozen but breathing. He dragged him away from the waters edge towards the horsebox and was glad that no one had returned to reclaim it. Some furs were still inside so he quickly set up a bed and wrapped Patroclus in as much stuff as he could find. Patroclus shivered but settled in, there was a bruise on the side of his head, Achilles lightly felt around it and found no blood but panic seized him. He carefully attempted to wake him, afraid he shouldn’t be asleep. Patroclus finally opened his eyes with a beaming smile on his face before snuggling back into the furs and Achilles’ leg.

“No, Patroclus stay awake! I don’t know how heavy you were hit,” Patroclus mumbled and flicked his eyes open reluctantly. Then he stared at the far end of the cavern, spooked. He didn’t blink for a while, Achilles turned and was stunned too, he stopped moving as if that would make _it_ disappear.

Sat upon a rock was an imposing man, in pure white robes trimmed with glittering gold. His curly hair held in a diadem of gold leaf, his eyes like ocean sapphires. He stood, and the cave seemed to shake, the pool rippled with each movement of his extending limbs. He knelt by the water and appeared to caress the surface till it stilled again. It stilled like a mirror and reflected back an image of a man in great _white-gold armour_ with a longbow in hand, his hair flowing and held by the same diadem. The man smiled fondly at the image as if reminiscing, looking with his glowing eyes at them both then back to water. He tapped the surface again and the image began to flow.

At the man's feet was another man, this one in armour that was poorly fitted, the armour was bent and dented, worn from overuse. Achilles vaguely recognised it. The sun reflected off the armour in rays of gold that seemed to pale because of the foreign wearer. A figure out of view took the feathered helm off the man's head and Patroclus’ face stared lifeless out of the pool. Patroclus from the canvas tent, older, tired Patroclus, Achilles sobbed and reached for the pool. The man raised his hand, his glowing eyes blazing through Achilles, telling him to not move.

The image changed and the man in the _white-gold armour_ was holding steady another unseen individual by the wrist, his long glowing fingers leading the point of a blunt arrow, the arrow was released. The whistling of the arrowhead cutting the wind, piercing Achilles’ ears, he clutched at his ankle, trying to hide it. Then the _white-gold man_ stood over another – Achilles – clutching his ankle. Achilles looked up and screamed in agonising rage, splitting the night and then, he smiled. That smile was so unexpected that the man in the great white-gold armour dropped his longbow and stood back.

Tears of pure joy fell from the wounded Achilles’ eyes and he turned to look at the imposing man as if he could see him, as if he had expected him to have a hand in his end. He nodded once in acceptance before closing his eyes, his final words were, “Lay me with my Philtatos.”

The pool rippled again. It pulsed with the gentle vibrations of the mountain and the man simply sat beside it as if he was watching the continuation of the story.

“You’ll be fine lion heart.” He smiled at Patroclus then turned to Achilles, “I don’t suppose you remember if you saw me that day, Aristos Achaion, perhaps you did, you were so far gone with rage, perhaps you pierced something into the Other World. I have waited long and I have thought on it longer, that war should have never happened. I should not have intervened. You two should have stayed with Chiron on Mount Pelion. Now you can.” The man smiled at them, “I intervene again, because I am bored, and I don’t think we saw the full potential of Achilles and Patroclus. I’ll be watching.”

He stood and again the mountain shook, Achilles jumped up, “Apollo!” He was speaking in Greek again, he could hear it himself, he didn’t stop to marvel at it. “Why did you do it the first time?”

Apollo turned and seemed to think long on it. Achilles only now thought that perhaps it was a bad idea to ask for answers, since he doubted Gods thought of time the way mortals did, it had, after all, took him this long to ease his guilt for his hand in their deaths. “I was bored. We were all bored, especially of the war. The joy of history is, it repeats itself. This war, in this Troy, is different. But it’s still the same, several of my brothers and sisters are here. Not as long or bloody perhaps, but the same pieces are at play. Ask Circe, she has been here forever.”

Apollo clicked his fingers and the cave filled with rose light reflecting off the walls, he waved his hand towards Patroclus and the bruises deepened and spread, then began to fade before their eyes. “The light will leave when you leave. I suggest for the best path, that you build on the opposite side of the mountain, the sun is lovely that side.”

“Wait,” Patroclus shouted, “How did you know Achilles and myself would even meet again?”

“You.” Apollo smiled, “I watched you, Patroclus, wait in the halls of the Underworld. You waited and didn’t move from the gates. Before that, you stood by Achilles, over your own body but you didn’t lament on _yourself_ like most souls do when they _see_ themselves, but Achilles. You took that arrow, that I guided, through your heart in a fruitless attempt to stop it hitting Achilles. I laughed. But, you chose to die again if only to have Achilles live. Of course, you’d meet again.”

He disappeared.

-

Chiron checked Patroclus over again, still mumbling about being stupid and seeing Gods, to which Circe chuckled. Peleus had made breakfast for everyone, they all sat around the table, Chiron and Circe leant against the breakfast bar. Odysseus and Penelope had stayed the night, Officer Aeneas had arrived before Achilles and Patroclus’ return. The letter of intent was sealed on the table. Priam suggested that they read it one more time but Odysseus shut that down as pointless paranoia that shouldn’t be allowed to fester.

“It’s done. Chrysippus’ body is safe, identified and ready for his final rest. Menoetius has implemented himself because Thyestes caught him with a shovel in the woods last night. We don’t have a choice now, we need to hand-deliver it. This time tomorrow, Troy will start its extensive cleaning process.” Officer Aeneas tapped the table, “It’s not how I wanted it, as I wanted you boys safe but, since Menoetius knows the plan about Chrysippus it has to be done today and face-to-face. Myself, Odysseus, Achilles and Patroclus.”

Patroclus shivered, clutching at the arm of his chair. “What are we waiting for then.”

-

Menoetius sat on his front porch waiting for them. He was filthy, covered in dried mud, his fingernails bloody. When he saw his son he actually smiled before sinisterly chuckling. He rubbed a great hand over his face, smearing the dirt over his cheek and Achilles saw more dried blood, he thought of those hands hurting Patroclus and pulled Pat back a bit.

“Father,” Patroclus’ voice was steady but Achilles could tell by the way he was holding his arms by his side, that he was tense. “Peleus and Laertes have handed over their positions in the Argonauts to Achilles and Odys –”

“I expect you think I will hand mine over to you,” He sneered, Patroclus took a step back into Achilles’ chest. Achilles held his elbow.

“No,” Patroclus held the letter of investigation up, his hands were shaking. “We have Chrysippus and proof it’s him and how he died. You are going to use our evidence to get Atreus and Thyestes to drop their campaign to hold Troy hostage. Restoring it rightfully to Priam. We _won’t_ then launch an investigation into you and your plans with Tyndareus and your involvement in my disappearance. You can keep your position in the Argonauts, only at the mercy of Achilles and Odysseus.”

“At the mercy of?” Menoetius tutted, “_We_? As well.”

“I am Philtatos to Achilles and _we_, don’t need your share yet because one day, whether you want it or not, it will be mine by blood right to claim it.”

Menoetius took the first meaningful look at his son that Patroclus could remember. “Why not take it now?”

“This,” Patroclus flashed the letter, then threw it to him, “Is a copy of everything we have and everything that means for you. You’re a prisoner of your own greed, you get to keep everything because it’s convenient for _us_.”

“If I hand it over now, you have nothing to hold over me and I can side with Atreus, tell him you have Chrysippus and he can turn his shit of a brother, Thyestes, in. Then what?”

“Do it.”

They stared each other down, Officer Aeneas stepped forward with the prewritten witness statement, he handed it to him. Menoetius dropped his gaze to look at it, then looked to Achilles beside his son; Odysseus thoughtfully surveyed the situation.

“Do it, Menoetius,” Achilles spoke, “You will lose everything.”

Menoetius stood, then turned to the closed door, Thetis came out of it. It was Achilles’ time to step back, Odysseus groaned in anger, “Your damn mum, Achilles.”

Thetis took the witness statement, she barely gave it a look before she shredded it. She went for the letter on the floor but Patroclus grabbed it, her fingernails snagged Patroclus’ sleeve. Achilles was there before she could pull him any closer, his hand on to her wrist, she gasped.

Aeneas whispered, “I’m not being called here for assault Achilles, loosen your grip.”

Achilles let go, “What have you done?”

Thetis’ grip on Patroclus tightened, her eyes appraised her son, she was angered to see more of Peleus in him than herself. “Do you think I wouldn’t try and stop this – farce – from going any further. You will close the Argonauts, you will move with myself and your granddad back to my homeland. You will forget this and become the God you are supposed to be.”

“Will I?”

“Yes, _Achilles_.”

“And what have you promised Menoetius to turn to you?”

Thetis hissed, “Menoetius was one of the men to take me from my homeland, I have promised to not tear apart his businesses with the Argonauts with the 17 years of proof I’ve collected against their trafficking business. I have also promised to give him Peleus’ warehouse that was given to me. Your father was very generous Achilles and gave me the most profitable one, whereas he kept the small inland one. Such a simple man.”

Achilles stepped closer to her, “Was this your plan all along? What have you asked of Menoetius? There must be something.”

“I’ve promised a quarter of your profit as well, to keep his son away from you. That’s all I need.” She snapped, “You will do as I say, Achilles, I have done everything for you—”

“I. Never. Asked. You to.” Achilles held her wrist again, “I never asked to be a pawn in yours and Peleus’ life. I never asked to be born. You chose to have a child; it’s not my fault that your life had to take a turn you didn’t expect. You had the opportunity to start on a new path the moment you realised _my father_ wasn’t the man you _thought_ he was, but you chose to remain angry. The one thing we share is rage, but I’m going to pick _happiness_.”

Achilles’ knuckles were bone white against her skin. He pulled her closer and whispered into her ear. No one could hear what he said, Patroclus who was still clutched in Thetis’ claws couldn’t even hear. Odysseus tugged the back of Patroclus’ shirt and managed to get him free, pulling him back. When Achilles and his mother parted, her face was seemingly whiter than before, she turned to Menoetius then stared Patroclus down.

“You aren’t, and never will be worthy of my son. Remember this day as the day I put my son before my own vision for him. Remember this day Patroclus, as the day Achilles chose a mundane life with no glory or legend. For a life of pointless nothing with you.” She turned to Menoetius, “Your son has ruined mine, for that I’ll ruin you.” She walked away, she didn’t look back. Achilles knew she was leaving Troy, he had a feeling he wouldn’t hear from her for a while.

“Thetis!” Menoetius raged after her, turning to Achilles with venom, he lunged at him in desperation but Aeneas’ baton came down on his back before he reached him.

Achilles knelt before him, “Take it Menoetius because the other option is the cave.”

Menoetius spat at him, getting up with a look of disdain on his face. “I’ll hand it to you and then see what Atreus has to offer.”

Officer Aeneas handed him another sheet. Menoetius’ face was confused at what he was seeing. “Last night, you went to the woods with a shovel. I have that shovel covered in – specifically – the mud from where the body was found, your fingerprints too. Funny isn’t it, how in a town like Troy, photos can be photoshopped to look like they happened, say – 28th of May 2003.”

Odysseus clapped, “Funny how the only ones to hear such an unlawful thing are the fellow Argonauts. One of which,” Odysseus dramatically pointed to Achilles, “Would gladly see you imprisoned. I’m sure your friendship with Atreus won’t hold especially since he would willingly play along to be rid of the phantom of Chrysippus. Your move Menoetius.”

Achilles smirked and repeated, _“Friends? In this game of wars _Menoetius_, ‘friends’ is a pretty word.”_

-

“How did you know he wouldn’t take the offer?” Patroclus asked Aeneas from the back of the police car. His fingers latched onto the metal grating like he was some kind of thief pleading his innocence.

“I didn’t. It was Odysseus’ idea.” Aeneas grinned, “He’d make a fine officer one day.”

“No, sir,” Odysseus shook his head, “I want to sail. I didn’t know he wouldn’t, but you should always have a backup. Him going to the woods last night was far to convenient to miss. I got Penelope to follow him and take a photo, she photoshopped it last night to look like the night the murder happened. The Argonauts have done worse than fabricate evidence, we’re fresh blood, we have to make a stand now, so he doesn’t ever try again. I’m more interested in what Achilles freaked his mother out with?”

Achilles didn’t respond, he turned to Patroclus and simply said Apollo inspired him to tell her a story she couldn’t live with. Patroclus frowned and clasped his hand.


	18. Famous and Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to my Beta Reader - Denise.
> 
> We've reached the end; thank you so much to everyone for reading, commenting and leaving kudos. I've learnt so much posting this, writing it and keeping it to yourself is very different from people reading it. Longer pieces are still a little difficult for me, I don't know if I'm being hard on myself, but I feel like there were points in the middle where the story lulled. A point was picked up on that I tend to write small paragraphs, and sometimes, I feel like I write rather short, jumping, sentences. But - that's the point of working with Beta Readers, having feedback from people that have read my stuff and continuing to write on regardless. 
> 
> Thank you all again, I hope you enjoy the ending and I hope I can improve on my fics in 2020! Happy New Year!

When it was done, Circe came to the woods and performed many numerous blessings on it. Chiron watched in awe with a hint of scepticism in his eyes, you could see the questions burning behind them. The nurse storing them all away to bombard the witch with later on. Philomela danced around, following the twists and turns of Circe’s incense, blending it further into the woodlands. It caught in her hair and her dress, making her appear like an apparition, it made her laugh.

It had taken 5 months for the side of the mountain to be levelled enough so that the side of the Rose-Quartz cave was revealed. Apollo was right, the other side of the mountain was better, all that had to be cleared was the years of avalanche debris that covered the main entrance to the cave. It appeared as well, that since Apollo’s departure the mountain was no longer dangerous, it didn’t shake with his presence or their work. Not that either Achilles or Patroclus would reveal that to anyone, especially if it kept people off _their_ mountain.

So, 5 months later, a small but beautiful house sat, nestled up against the entrance to the cave, made completely from the resources they had removed. As Patroclus had requested, it could easily be missed, it blended in perfectly. Circe had already begun helping the plants around it grow again to make it a secluded hidden paradise. Chiron expressed his envy several times, he kept repeating that _kids should live with their parents_ and that _he could keep it warm while they were busy growing up._

“Stay then!” Patroclus pleaded again. “We’ll build you a place!” Patroclus had already outlined an area off to the left of the house, that would easily be a liveable place for Chiron.

“No, my time in Troy is done.”

“Same!” Circe chirped. He side-eyed her, furrowing his brow as if he didn’t hear her for the hundredth time. Circe winked at Patroclus and continued guiding vines up the side of the house.

“Will your mother stay with you both?”

Patroclus shivered, “No!” They all laughed at him, “Peleus is taking care of her for us, this is our house.”

“How’s it different if I stay then?” Chiron smiled at Patroclus, who simply looked away.

Achilles sat and watched Circe finish up, he watched the sun start to set. The location was perfect, the garden and front of the house were always lit, the roof always in the sun; so the house remained warm. The trees protected it from the wind up the mountainsides and the mountain itself protected them from behind. Once they opened the cave entrance the pool trickled out in a seemingly endless stream around the garden, the tears of Mnemosyne seemingly never-ending and eternal.

Several times, himself, Patroclus and Circe saw a young Achilles and Patroclus, playing in the stream or climbing the trees, disappearing in bells of laughter when Circe shooed them on like naughty children. You’d catch them watching from behind low branches, Achilles would smile watching Greek Achilles hold Greek Patroclus steady on a wobbling branch and other little things. The more he watched, the more he believed it was really them from Ancient Greece, the more the memories seemed to be his. Patroclus even caught Philomela holding Greek Patroclus’ hand, listening to him telling her about the beach and skipping rocks.

Chiron and Peleus seemed to not see anything, but they didn’t argue that the others weren’t which made Achilles feel a little better. Chiron simply kept sceptically watching the witch as if it was her doing it all. “It explains why Philomela saw Patroclus in the woods. Perhaps, that vision visited her to comfort her.”

Achilles smiled, “Of course Patroclus would do that.”

-

They sat in the house alone. The sounds from the woods drifting in, the setting light flashing off the rose-quartz of the cave hazing everything in pale pink. Patroclus shifted closer to Achilles and carefully laced their fingers together. “You’re quiet? We can move stuff about tomorrow if you don’t like it?”

Achilles looked around the room again. They had agreed to have it open, the living room, dining room and kitchen all together. The wall that separated off the bedroom didn’t have a fixed door, the bathroom was the only really secluded part of the house, around the corner of the mountainside that made up part of the house. It was minimal, they were young anyway and didn’t have a lot to fill the house with. “Are you sure you still want to live together _so_ soon?” Patroclus’ voice was worried, he had nowhere to go if Achilles was second-guessing his decision.

Achilles had to admit, he was scared of living together so soon but, he and Patroclus had in Greece? Why couldn’t they begin where that ended? He didn’t want to live in his father's house anymore, there were so many secrets and changed things that it no longer felt like home. He didn’t want to live in Troy, period, but he had friends here now, Patroclus had friends here. Apollo had spoken of the mountain, they had left the dreamlike life of the Rose-Quartz cave for the battle of Troy when neither had wanted to, why not end the circle and return?

The winning argument to Peleus was Achilles was 18 in 2 months and he was technically a businessman now. Plus, they’d be down every weekend. When they asked if he would care for Philomela because she really didn’t need to be in a hospital, he agreed to them building the house if only because he knew Patroclus would definitely come back. It hurt Achilles a little that Peleus seemed to think he would disappear and never come back. But he learnt that Thetis had said something to him probably along the lines of what he scared her with.

He had to tell Patroclus what he told Thetis.

-

Achilles sat on the pallet in a static daze, his feet shifting in the sand. Each grain felt like it cut his skin, each breath felt like it ripped his lungs. Every touch of his fingers on his tearstained cheeks felt like a burn. He pulled at his hair again, as if unaware he was doing it, his body moving with his emotions. His emotions like the waves, drowning him then releasing him. Catching him in a sideways current then pulling him in a whirlpool. Beaching him.

The silence outside his tent was deafening. None of the Myrmidons lit fires, he could make out their still ghosts in the dying sun, each and every one turned towards his tent. He couldn’t face them. He looked around the tent again, the chest with _his_ clothes, _his_ sandals, _his_ medical bag, _his_ piece of rose-quartz, _his_ pillow, _his_ furs. The mark _he_ left in the sand when _he_ rolled out of bed that morning, the sheer curtain _he_ put up to stop the bugs getting in, the corner _he_ made to read in, the—

It felt like a storm. Rolling in from his feet in the harsh glass-like sand. Crackling over his shins, building up his thighs. Lightning striking in his gut and thunder booming in his chest. It stopped abruptly, suffocating him, choking his breath, he sobbed. The ghosts of the Myrmidons stepped back. He lashed out at his chest and hair again, pulling, tearing at himself. He wailed. Slamming himself into the pallet, rolling over to his side. He breathed _him_ in. The cold smell of his empty space. The scent of mulberry and figs disappearing.

Someone approached, their hand reaching for the tent flap. He roared, he screamed, he shouted in rage. The shadow stopped. It walked away.

He drifted off into a sleep that was full of floods of blood and bursting hearts. When he woke, the tent was the same. Nothing had changed. Why had _nothing_ changed? Achilles managed to get his feet beneath him, stumbling to the tent entrance, he slowly swept it aside. There _he_ was.

The shroud undisturbed by breath, his bronze feet uncovered and lifeless. Achilles sat by them unable to find the strength to lift the shroud, it’s feather weight-bearing his entire existence. He held Patroclus’ big toe and shook it gently, ever so gently. He did not move. _Nothing_ changed.

He shook it again and again and again, he would not, could not let go. He shook his foot gently until the waves came back up the shore, the sun dying again and his men turned away, unable to watch.

“Achilles, he must be put to rest.”

Achilles knelt, and on defeated hands and knees crawled up to Patroclus’ covered head. Odysseus looked away, his head low, his eyes on a spot on the sand. With careful hands Achilles didn’t remove the shroud, it had been too long to view Patroclus’ face again. He slowly lowered his lips to his forehead and held his lips to him. He let his hand slip beneath the shroud to touch his brunette curls, his fingers fighting to find a pulse because what if the Gods had listened? They hadn’t.

His tears stained the shroud, _“But now you lie here torn before me, and my heart goes starved for meat and drink, though they are here beside me, by reason of longing for you. There is nothing worse than this I could suffer…”_

-

Patroclus woke up in bed, he didn’t remember going to bed, he remembered being sat on the floor, listening in tears to Achilles’ story of Troy. He had wrapped himself around Achilles, refusing to let go, he had whispered everything and anything he could think of to reassure him that that would _never_ happen again.

He slowly got up to stretch, groaning as he looked around their home on the mountain. Achilles wasn’t beside him but he wasn’t worried, he knew exactly where he was.

Achilles sat on the edge of a rock with his foot in the never-ending stream from the cave, he only had his shorts on. Patroclus had options: run and push him in, slip in and swim up and splash him, splash him now and run back to the house or the cave. As he crept forward, he realised his mistake. Achilles’ back was hunched, his foot wasn’t swinging, he had heard him. He knew him, and he was waiting. He had no option now but to skip into his back and accept his fate. Achilles caught him mid-jump, spinning him around to his front and turning so he dropped first into the stream.

They would not talk of The Iliad again.

-

Achilles felt himself get lighter, he felt something shift away and free him. He wasn’t going to war, he wasn’t going to lose Patroclus. They lay on the grass, the sun creeping higher, he watched Patroclus ruffle his hair and the drops of water fall down his back. He sat up suddenly, Patroclus turned with a smile and Achilles couldn’t help himself—he kissed him. Patroclus’ fingers tugged his hair a bit, he moved so he was sat atop Achilles’ lap and held his face closer so he couldn’t get away, Achilles chuckled between kisses and held Patroclus closer too. It became a challenge; who could get the closest, who would lose and break away first. But neither had the intention to, their kisses slowed, Achilles moved to Patroclus’ neck and shoulder.

He stopped, Patroclus was about to laugh in triumph when Achilles whispered, _“She cannot see us here. On Pelion.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone that has left kudos, a comment or simply just read!
> 
> Tumblr (Mixed Obsessions) - AutumnQuest  
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